


Periodically Pining

by Perhapsormaybe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Enemies to fake dating to lovers, Everyone works at a magazine au, F/M, Gabriel is Aziraphale's cousin, M/M, brief discussions of death, brief scene in a hospital - none of the GO characters are in it, coma in a story within the story, decent amount of curse words but like no worse than a pg-13 movie, mentions of a drunk driver, some homophobia, some very vague sexual refrences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perhapsormaybe/pseuds/Perhapsormaybe
Summary: “Because even family can't save you from poor work, right? Because you only have a few months to prove yourself. Less, than, really.”“Less than? So how long do I have?”“Christmas. Dad always gets more friendly this time of year, but his mood starts going south right after Christmas dinner.”“How often do you publish?”“You'll have one chance.”“And I probably shouldn't mention it,” Gabriel said in the voice of someone who didn't actually care if he should or shouldn't, “But dad's also concerned that you never bring a date to the Christmas party.” Aziraphale groaned but before he could say anything, Gabriel pressed on. “No one wants to see you alone. We all got over the whole uh...you know thing-”“Gay. You can say it. I've been telling you all I'm gay for long enough, I should think you could at least say the word by now.”“We've accepted it,” Gabriel insisted, “Just find someone, would you?”Summary: Aziraphale has taken a position as a copy editor at his uncle's magazine. But he and Crowley, one of the best writers, are butting heads. And Aziraphale's getting pressured by his family to have a date to the Christmas party. An enemies to fake dating to lovers au.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 171
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Welcome to Eden Magazine

**Author's Note:**

> I have other things to work on but I realized I've never written a "It's Christmas time and we have to pretend to be dating" story and I haven't done an AU for Good Omens, so here we are.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and stepped off the elevator, wishing he could do this without Gabriel's so-called assistance. His cousin never was much help, and in these kinds of situations often made things worse. 

“Trust me, they'll love you,” Gabriel said easily, putting what he presumably thought was a reassuring hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale was glancing around, taking note of how everything looked. They were on the fourth floor of the office building. The floor was carpeted in a disgusting yellow-brown shade. There were fake trees lined against the walls because there was no natural light coming in through the windows – they were too murky for any light to come through. No hope of real plants being able to flourish in these conditions. The fluorescent lights above were humming irritably at him, and one blinked off a moment later. There were several cubicles, but each had low walls so the writers could all speak with one another. He could feel their eyes on him. 

“Mmmhmm. And the fellow who lost his job so your father could give me this position? How many people here were friends with him?”

“You can't think about that,” Gabriel insisted, lowering his voice. “His work wasn't as good as yours. You're excellent at all that,” he made a gesture like he was marking through the air with an invisible pen, “You know, the words stuff.”

Aziraphale supposed he should be grateful to his uncle, but he was a kind soul and couldn't help but think that this Mr. Appleton, whomever he was, hadn't exactly been excited to be on early retirement. But the newspaper Aziraphale had been working for had gone under. One complaint to Gabriel later and good old Uncle Gideon was on the phone with an offer for Aziraphale to start working for his magazine. Aziraphale didn't really have a choice since he had bills to pay and his own parents had passed away years ago in a car accident, so it wasn't like he had anyone else to fall back on. 

He tried as best as he could to turn his grimace into a smile, but he could feel the hostility in the other workers now staring at him.

“Everyone,” when Gabriel reached the center of the room he held his hands up, trying to get all of the writers to look up and pay attention to him. “Everyone, this is Mr. Aziraphale Fell – he is our newest copy editor. I expect you all to treat him with kindness and-”

“Boss's nephew,” The words came out hidden under a fake cough, but they were clear as day. Aziraphale glanced around and found the source quickly. A red head with his feet up on his desk, lounging back in his chair with one arm behind his head. Wearing sunglasses indoors, of all things. 

“Well, I suppose the cat's out of the bag,” Gabriel admitted, giving a pained smile in the direction of the writer. “Thank you for that, Crowley.”

“Dunno what he's talking about,” The man – Crowley – insisted. “Just coming down with a bit of a cough. Y'know what my allergies are like, boss.”

“Sure,” Gabriel waved him off. “Aziraphale is my cousin, and so, of course he's dad's nephew. I hope that won't have any interference with how you all get along.”

“Of course not!” Crowley took his feet off his desk and sat up. “We'll treat him just as well as ol' Mr ...what was his name? Applebother? Anathema, help me out here?”

“Mr. Appleton,” She supplied. Her tone indicated she hadn't wanted to answer him, but knew he would only get worse if someone didn't play along. 

“Appleton,” Crowley snapped his fingers as though the name were only just coming back to him. “Of course! Feels like I saw him just yesterday. Was telling me all about how he wasn't quite ready to retire yet. I wonder what could have changed his mind?” He arched an eyebrow in Gabriel's direction. 

“Don't you have work to do, Crowley?” Gabriel insisted. Crowley smirked and pressed a button on his keyboard. His printer spat out several pages, which he then flung into Aziraphale's hands. 

“Seems I'm done, just waiting on a copy editor,” he turned his attention to Aziraphale. “I was told my spelling made the guy before Appleton quit, and Appleton used to tell me he cried over my use of commas. I wonder what complaints you'll have, hmm?”

Aziraphale stood up straight, deciding not to give in. “I'm sure we'll find out soon,” he considered it, and wanting to make an example, added. “Though if I continue to see the same errors, I suppose we'll have to set up a time to teach you proper grammar, eh?”

“Oh?” Crowley sat himself back down, looking somehow more comfortable than anyone could possibly ever be in an office chair, “I'll bring the wine then, darling. We'll make it a date.” He turned his chair back around to face his desk, clearly dismissing Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale sputtered, but before he could come up with anything, Gabriel dragged him along through the many cubicles and to the back corner where Gabriel kept an office. 

“That ...that man! What was that about?!” Aziraphale finally came out with as soon as the door was closed. “How is he still allowed to work here?”

“That man,” Gabriel rubbed at the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, “Is Anthony J Crowley.”

“Not the man who writes all those lovely books on plant care?” Aziraphale blinked several times. He had a few of Crowley's books – Crowley never had author pictures taken, and Aziraphale wasn't the type to care much what the authors looked like. In addition to the gardening books, Crowley was also a fiction novelist. He'd written more than a few of Aziraphale's favorites. Aziraphale had no idea that same writer also wrote for a magazine. What was the point of it, he wondered. Aziraphale didn't know what kind of money novelists made, but it seemed odd a successful one would have to work at a magazine as well. 

“He has an imagination better than anyone else here,” Gabriel admitted. “Pretty good at philosophy as well. He writes our gardening pages, some of our opinion pieces – even helps some of the other writers when they get stuck. We also sometimes run fiction pieces, and almost all of them are done by him. We can't afford to lose him and he knows it.”

“He already doesn't seem to care much for me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I was hoping not to come in and be hated already,” Aziraphale despaired, wringing his hands. “I knew I should never have agreed to this job, it wasn't fair to that man, that Appleton that I did it. I should just-”

“Dad's putting his faith in you, Aziraphale. A lot of faith in you. So am I. You need to just set Crowley straight and get to work. Because even family can't save you from poor work, right?” He waited for Aziraphale to nod. “Good. Because I have to tell you... you only have a few months to prove yourself. Less, than, really.”

“Less than?” Aziraphale repeated. Having strings attached to what seemed like a gift was the norm for his family, but they were usually a bit more upfront about it. “So how long do I have?”

“Christmas. Dad always gets more friendly this time of year, but his mood starts going south right after Christmas dinner. We may have until the next morning if he's drunk enough to put him to sleep.”

“So I have until Christmas to prove myself? How often do you publish?”

“You'll have one chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, absentmindedly. He set Crowley's article down to stop himself from fidgeting with it. 

“And I probably shouldn't mention it,” Gabriel said in the voice of someone who didn't actually care if he should or shouldn't, “But dad's also concerned that you never bring a date to the Christmas party.” Aziraphale groaned but before he could say anything, Gabriel pressed on. “No one wants to see you alone. We all got over the whole uh...you know thing-”

“Gay. You can say it. I've been telling you all I'm gay for long enough, I should think you could at least say the word by now.”

“We've accepted it,” Gabriel insisted, “So it's fine if you bring a man. Just find someone, would you?” Gabriel took a seat behind his desk and Aziraphale took that as his cue to leave. He tried to turn back when he reached the door to point out that Gabriel hadn't told him where Aziraphale was supposed to sit at, but Gabriel was already on the phone with someone. Aziraphale saw himself out, trying to figure out who among the writers looked friendly enough that they might help him. 

Instead he nearly tripped over Newton Pulsifer, Gabriel's very put upon assistant. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Fell,” Newt greeted him. They'd met during one of Gabriel's dad's Christmas parties and Aziraphale couldn't help but feeling a certain kinship with him. No one else quite knew what it was like to be at the whim of Aziraphale's family. 

“Hello, Newton - ...Newt,” He corrected himself. Newt had asked him multiple times to call him Newt, had even put his information in Aziraphale's phone under that name. Not that they spoke to each other much. “I don't suppose you know where I'll be sitting?”

Newt had a folder under his arm, which he pulled out and started rifling through – he was terrible with electronics, but that hadn't stood in his way as an assistant. Gabriel wanted most of his information in writing. He'd inherited his father's decided distrust of the new. 

“I should have all of Gabriel's agenda for today here but...there's nothing about where you're at. I guess you'd just take Mr. Appleton's seat.”

“Which was?”

Aziraphale suddenly knew what Newt was about to say before the words were out of his mouth. “Right beside Mr. Crowley's cubicle.”

“Of course it is,” Aziraphale bit back a scream. 

“I can show you where that -”

“I have already had the pleasure of meeting Crowley,” Aziraphale practically growled the words. Apparently the sarcasm was lost on Newt. 

“Ah, great! He's a lot of fun, isn't he? Sometimes I go out with him and Anathema,” his cheeks went slightly pink at the mention of her name, “you should come with us next time!”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale tried to exhale all of his frustration. It wouldn't do to act like his uncle and cousin and take all of this out on poor Newt. It wasn't his fault Aziraphale was in this situation. It wasn't Newt's fault that Crowley had decided to start hating him already. But it was worrying that the others seemed to like Crowley.

Newt still insisted on seeing Aziraphale to his seat. “Oh, and first day someone always takes you to lunch!”

“Uncle approves those kind of business expenses?” Aziraphale was shocked, but pleased by the idea. It seemed an excellent way to improve camaraderie. But Newt shook his head. 

“No, one of us always pays,” he tapped on the wall of the cubicle and Anathema popped her head out. “Is it your turn to pay or mine?”

“It's mine,” Crowley stood up so he could be seen. Aziraphale's cubicle was sandwiched between Anathema and Crowley. 

“Oh. Well, you needn't bother,” Aziraphale said stiffly. “I think you've made it clear-”

Crowley huffed and pulled his sunglasses off, apparently just so the others could see him roll his eyes. “It's my turn, and it's a tradition-”

“We only started it a few months ago,” Newt offered. 

“A tradition,” Crowley insisted, “And we will not break tradition. The three of us always treat the new person. Though we don't get too many of them these days. I believe your uncle had us on a hiring freeze until recently.”

“If you're going to berate me for everything my uncle's ever done than can it at least wait until we're eating?” Aziraphale was resigned to being upbraided, but he tended to eat when he was nervous. Right now he could feel the hunger pains starting. 

“Very well,” Crowley gave him a salute and sat back in his chair, hunkering over his computer so that he was no longer visible. “Oi! Where'd you put the article I gave you?”

“Oh, dear...I think I left it in Gabriel's office. I better go back and-” Before he could even get up, Crowley was placing a new copy in Aziraphale's hands. 

“Best not. He gets testy when he's interrupted. Just take the new copy,” Crowley insisted. 

“Oh. Oh, that is quite kind of you,” Aziraphale beamed at him, then looked down at the work. He momentarily suspected it may be a trick and he would just find a stream of curse words on the page, but it seemed like competent writing. Gardening questions he'd answered, though Aziraphale wouldn't know if the answers were right. He didn't know much about gardening. “Ms Device, I believe someone said you do an Occult section?”

“That's right,” she looked up just to smile at him, then returned her attention to her typing. She wasn't as fast as Crowley, but she seemed competent. 

“What kind of magazine is this?”Aziraphale flipped through the article in front of him. “Occult, world news, gardening, cooking and ….what else?”

“We're rated number one for our listicles on cute animals,” Newt offered, “And we're ranked dead last on sports. We have a guy who covers them, but he doesn't like it. But your uncle won't fire him because how bad the sports section is has got us trending and made us popular in America.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, even though he didn't. "It seems rather hodgepodge, but I suppose if you have everything covered you'll more easily find your readership?" He pulled out his watch and checked the time, then noted with irritation that Crowley was staring at him again. Crowley smirked at him and put his sunglasses back on. 

“A fob watch? Really? How old are you, anyway?”

“Don't see what that has to do with anything,” Aziraphale sniffed. 

“I think it's neat,” Anathema offered, not looking up from her work. “Very old school. American fashion's pretty big on that right now.”

“So go back to America,” Crowley suggested. She paused to throw a pen at him, then got back to her work. He let the pen bounce off of him, apparently unperturbed. “Anyway, Aziraphale, I suggest you get to checking my work now. Gabriel sometimes does rounds and clears his throat at anyone he thinks doesn't look busy enough.”

“He's right,” Newt checked his own watch, “He'll be doing that any minute now, which means he'll want his coffee. Anyone else want some?” Anathema held a finger up. “Aziraphale? I can get you tea, if you prefer.”

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” Newt rushed off to the kitchen so Aziraphale settled in and booted up his computer. “I suppose I'll have to get physical copies of everyone's work until I'm set up with an email, eh?”

“You already have one,” Anathema said, “it's just a.z.fell at eden mag dot com. I sent the first part of this over to you, it's about how to cleanse your quartz. Second part will be about buying from ethical stores.”

“If you can email it to me, why did you give me a printed copy?” he turned his attention to Crowley. Crowley just wiggled his fingers to wave at him and then set about to work. Or at least to pretend to work. It was really impossible to tell. And as they'd forewarned, Gabriel came out of his office a moment later, making rounds and standing over people. 

“Don't worry,” Anathema whispered to him, “He's nice enough for the first week. Though I guess if he's your cousin maybe he'll be nicer to you?”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale gave her a half-hearted smile. The sympathetic nod he got in return said she understood completely. 

“I trust everything's going well today in paradise?” Gabriel stood with one hand on his hip and the other on Aziraphale's cubicle.

“Ah, yes, off to a great start,” Aziraphale held Crowley's story up. He'd already made a few marks in red pen. Crowley either hadn't been joking about misunderstanding the use of commas or else he thought it would be a fun joke to play. 

“Excellent, excellent,” Gabriel nodded. “Anathema, Crowley. You're treating my cousin ok, right?”

“Who, us?” Crowley pointed a finger at himself. “Of course. We're all going to lunch together in twenty minutes.”

“That's good,” Gabriel obviously wasn't listening. “Anathema, are you sure about this Occult section? I'm not sure it vibes with the rest. Maybe we could get back to doing a deep clean or manners guide?”

“I wouldn't know how to do either of those,” Anathema said pointedly. 

“Occult section sells,” Crowley insisted. “The easily offended grandparents buy it just to have something to be upset about. Then you have the teens who are trying to offend those grandparents. Lots of money in the Occult.”

“I suppose,” Gabriel said, unconvinced. But he moved on, going off to bother someone he called “Beezy”. 

“Right. I can't wait that long to get out of here,” Crowley whispered just loud enough for both Anathema and Aziraphale to hear. “Text Newt and tell him to meet us at the sushi place.”

Aziraphale perked up. “Sushi?”

“I figured you'd like that,” Crowley answered, but refused to explain why he'd come to that conclusion. “If I have to see Gabriel again today before I've had a drink and a good meal I may finally lose it on him.”

“Not exactly like you're polite to him,” Anathema had finally stopped typing. “You're just too important to them to keep so you get to talk to him how you want to. I'd love to have the freedom to tell him where to get off. Or to back off poor Newt...”

Aziraphale noted with great interest that her cheeks just went as pink talking about Newt as his did when talking about Anathema. 

“Your crush aside, Gabriel's a git to everyone,” Crowley insisted. He turned his attention back to Aziraphale. “You must have known him his whole life. He always been like this? Little terror since his diaper days, yeah?”

“I won't speak ill of a coworker.”

“Which is code for 'I agree but I'm too afraid to say it',” Crowley translated. Aziraphale bit his lip, trying not to give away that, at least in this instance, he and Crowley were on the same page. He made another red mark with a flourish, trying to send a message that he wouldn't be distracted. 

“C'mon then. Sushi, as promised,” Crowley crossed into Aziraphale's cubicle and grabbed his arm, forcing him to his feet. “You too, Anathema. It's only ten minutes earlier than we're supposed to go, it's fine.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale shook Crowley's hand loose and glanced back at his computer. The emails were already starting to roll in and it was shaping up to be a very busy day. 

“It should be ok,” Anathema reasoned. “It's your first day, they can't expect you to get everything done. Besides, I'm starving. I skipped breakfast today because I forgot to buy eggs last night. And sushi sounds wonderful,” she looped one arm into Aziraphale's and the other into Crowley's. 

“If you both insist,” Aziraphale relented, allowing himself to be pulled along. It was going to be a hard day, the least he could do was have a nice meal in the middle. And if that rude man Crowley was paying for it, well... all the more reason to allow himself a few nicer things than what he would normally get were he dining on his own money.


	2. Find Me Somewhere to Sit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what kind of update schedule we'll have because I don't know how long this is going to be. My ideal is to finish by new years but I'm also trying not to rush myself.

Crowley could be a hard person to know. Both because he made himself hard to get to know and because even if you got to know him he could be, well, a bit of a bastard. But the fun kind. He prided himself on that. He could and would cause trouble almost anywhere he went, but on the whole it was mostly harmless. It was all well and good, really. Especially if the chosen target, to his mind, was someone who deserved it.

While Mr. Appleton leaving had been of no great concern to him – they weren't friends, after all, and were barely even friendly – the elderly gentleman being replaced by a relative off the boss seemed incredibly unfair. 

Crowley was very big on things being fair. He had a strong sense of justice, and a tendency to not just assume that the information given to him was entirely correct or just. So he'd examined Aziraphale with great interest after Newt had let it slip that Aziraphale was Gideon's nephew. Crowley had managed to talk to a few people who were in the know to find out more. Aziraphale had lost his job, uncle had come swooping to the rescue. At the expense of one of Gideon's own current employees. That Aziraphale had taken up the offer, to Crowley, meant he was just as guilty as his family in this matter.

So when Aziraphale had come in on his first day, Crowley had taken copious mental notes. The first thing that immediately hit him was that Aziraphale was gay – this was discarded, because Crowley had no use for that (just because they had that in common didn't mean Crowley would be bonding over it with him, and he wasn't a big enough jerk to try to seduce someone to punish them). The second was just how overly ...British he was. Even for a Brit, it seemed like Aziraphale was trying to win some sort of pageant. He was almost a caricature of it, really. The third was that he was intelligent. This was the only one that really mattered to Crowley, because it meant he had to be more careful and potentially more artful with how he messed with him. 

Crowley had taken this magazine job six years ago. Only after his novels had been successful enough that he never needed to take a writing gig again. The point wasn't the money, though having the additional paychecks was certainly nice. No, the point was that the magazine needed him desperately and now he could get on with saying what he liked and trying to shake a fair deal for the other writers. He'd been in their position before, scrabbling to make it, having to get coffee for the big guy (even though it wasn't his job, and often at his own expense). All sorts of indignities had been heaped on him and he'd decided he would do what he could to save others from the same fate. 

It was only Aziraphale's second day, so he was starting in on the easy stuff. Aziraphale was now running around from cubicle to cubicle, trying to either find his missing chair or see if someone could spare him one. He'd tried to grab one from a conference room, but as Crowley well knew, Newt was immediately sent by Gabriel to grab it back (“So sorry, Aziraphale, conference room chairs have to stay in the conference room,” Gabriel'd said, giving his cousin a pat on the back before retreating to his office. Either he didn't remember or didn't care to offer his cousin one of the two spare chairs in his own office). 

“How long do you think before he'll find it?” Crowley leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his tea, watching Aziraphale grow more and more flustered. 

“Bit juvenile,” Anathema clucked her tongue. “Really, I expect better from you. Besides, he's nice.”

“Mmm.” Crowley took another sip, refusing to answer her. Further to his taking Appleton's job, Aziraphale had also ordered the most expensive sushi roll on the menu yesterday. It left a bad taste in Crowley's mouth, even though he probably would have done the same. 

“Where _did_ you put his chair, anyway?”

“Not telling you,” Crowley said sing-song, “Or you might tell him. I think you like him.”

“I told you, he seems nice. All of his feedback to me has just been correcting small mistakes and he wasn't mean about any of it. Just keeps reminding me that this is a Brit mag so it should be c-o-l-o-u-r.”

“You'd think you'd been here long enough to have gone native. However will you get Newt to marry you if you can't spell words the correct way?”

Anathema threw a pen at him. She had a whole container of pens that would often be empty by the end of the day. She and Crowley often threw them back and forth. So long as no one else was caught in the crossfire, no one cared. Aziraphale had been hit only once so far, but that was before he'd gone looking for his chair. “Shut up about Newt. We're not... you know.”

“Only because neither one of you will be the first to ask,” Crowley muttered under his breath. He'd long given up hope of encouraging them. They both got flustered and then refused to actually take any action. It was exhausting. 

Aziraphale finally crossed back into Crowley's cubicle and fixed him with a glare. “I suppose this trouble is all your doing?”

“Trouble? Are you having trouble?” Crowley asked innocently. 

“Hilarious. Would you be so kind as to tell me where my chair has gotten off to?”

“Must have rolled away. They do that, I think. Gotta hold on to them. I think the sales department used to race them.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale let out a long sigh. “Would you please return my chair?” 

“Fine,” Crowley was actually surprised in himself that he was giving in so easily. Normally he'd have kept this up through at least one business day. “The broken lift. It's stuck on the third floor right now.”

“How would I even go about getting that open?” Aziraphale lamented, but apparently the question wasn't directed at anyone as he was now racing off towards the stairs, presumably to go down one floor and try to open the shaft himself. 

“That was mean,” Anathema finally pushed the save button and started drafting an email to Aziraphale with her work. “He looked so panicky. How can you stand it?”

“I told him where it was, didn't I?”

Anathema rolled her eyes and started drumming her fingers on the table. Her pieces were done for the next issue. She could get a head start on the next one, but Crowley had been a bad influence on her. He strongly encouraged loafing, whenever possible. 

“Do you think he'll figure out he needs to ask security for help? How did _you_ manage to get it in there? I thought they had that elevator roped off ever since Gideon decided he wouldn't pay the money to have it fixed.”

“Hastur owed me a favor,” Crowley shrugged. He'd intended to save that favor for something better, originally, but then along came Aziraphale. Damn him. Crowley'd meant to use that favor to get into Gideon's office and do some real trouble. Hastur was the head of the security department and was allowed access to some places Crowley couldn't yet go. 

“Speaking of favors,” Instead of getting up Anathema rolled her chair over into Aziraphale's empty cubicle so she was closer to Crowley. “Date for Christmas party?”

They'd gone together both years prior, when Anathema had first started. Newt had never managed to pluck up the courage to ask her and she seemed unwilling, for whatever reason, to make the first move. So instead she and Crowley always went 'as friends'. Which just meant he escorted her, said hi to a few people, left and came back to pick her up when she got tired of the whole affair. 

“And what if I've found someone? Hmm?”

“Then I guess I'll just be alone and embarrassed.”

Well, that wouldn't do. The great part of Anathema, the part that both endeared her to him and frustrated him, was that she could choose whether or not she allowed Crowley to get to her. She liked taking that power away from him. 

“I don't see why you won't just ask him,” Crowley said after just a moment of hesitation. He'd told himself he was going to let it go and never bother about it again, but Anathema was by no means shy so he couldn't fathom what was holding her back. 

“I don't know,” she squirmed in her chair. “We work together. I feel like it could get awkward... I _think_ he likes me back, but-” she clammed up, her eyes darting away from his. Obviously she didn't want to talk about it right now. “Besides, what about you?”

“What about me? I'm excellent at being single.”

“But are you _happy_? I just get the impression you're somebody who would do better with a boyfriend.”

“You're just jealous cause I would get one faster if it came down to it,” he winked, then stretched out, letting her get a glimpse of the high heels he was currently wearing. “Also that I have better fashion taste than you.”

“Just because you walk better in high heels than I do doesn't mean your taste is better,” she sniffed. This was one of their more familiar jokes. Anathema's taste were more old fashioned than most of her peers. Crowley was up on most fashion trends and in fact ahead of many of them. High heels paired with a man's cut business suit were nothing new for him. Plus he quite liked how nervous it made Gabriel, though the man would never articulate his discomfort. 

Aziraphale came back then, dragging his chair behind him and looking irritable. “Yes, that was quite hilarious,” he gave Anathema a pleading look and she rolled her chair out of his cubicle. He gave her a grateful nod and took his seat before turning his attention back to Crowley. “You ...you ...” he seemed to be groping around for an intense enough word. “You bad man,” he finally settled, lamely. 

Crowley just barely resisted the urge to laugh. Did this man really not curse? Or did he simply think being called 'bad' was the worst word one could use? Hell, Crowley had been called a bastard, an asshole and even a jerk today (all in the last hour, all of them from Anathema over various slights). It was kind of adorable that Aziraphale went there. He shook the thought off – that wouldn't do. 

“Just a friendly joke between office mates,” Crowley insisted. 

“Friendly,” Aziraphale said flatly. “Right. Very friendly. The security guard didn't look very happy about finding me trying to pry that door open.”

“Well, it wasn't safe,” Crowley offered. “You probably should have asked security to open it for you.”

“Next time you play such a prank on me, I will endeavor to remember that advice.” 

“Well, I'm leaving for the day anyway. I gave you both of my pieces for this month, so I'm not sure I'll bother coming in tomorrow.”

“It is barely past lunchtime!”

“Yep, thanks, my watch works, I know,” Crowley grabbed his jacket from behind his chair. “I made the edits you requested and sent 'em back to you. Do let me know how that works out for you. _Ciao!_ ”

Aziraphale was seething now. “That – that....that man!” he turned his attention to Anathema, wondering if there would be any sympathy from one of Crowley's friends. 

“I'm sorry,” and he was somewhat gratified to note that she truly did sound sorry. “He'll come around to you. He's just going to take some time. He's ...”

“He can hear every word you're saying,” Crowley came back and plopped back into his chair. “Rude to talk about me behind my back, y'know. And I remembered that I'm meant to do a fiction piece this month.” He hadn't forgotten, and had in fact meant to leave. But they'd started talking about him before he was out of earshot, and Crowley hadn't been able to resist going back. 

“Have you at least started on it?” Aziraphale asked, dreading the answer. 

“Nope! Writer's block is a real bitch, eh? And what with you needing this to be a particularly good issue...”

“How do you know about that?” Aziraphale flushed. 

“Have my sources. Anyway, you need a real ...what is that Gabriel always calls it?” And here Crowley flashed a smile that seemed, to Aziraphale, to have far too many teeth. “Ah. Yes, a 'hook'. I wonder what's been our biggest hook the last few of our Christmas specials?” he glanced at Anathema, who gave him a pleading look, begging not to be dragged into it. He sighed, and instead pointed a finger at himself. “I do believe it may be the fiction pieces I do every year. Not sure I'm feeling it, though. You understand. There's been a loss in the family. Appleton and I were,” he went over the top here, pantomiming tears, “So very close. He was so dear to me.”

Anathema was giving Crowley her best 'you've gone too far' look, but he ignored it. Aziraphale seemed to crumple before him, and he was enjoying it. The man had sunk all the way into his reacquired chair and looked like he may keep crumpling until he reached the floor. But it only lasted a few moments before he sprung himself up in his chair and gained his composure. He pushed himself up from his chair and marched into Crowley's cubicle, leaning over the side. 

“You may think this quite funny, I'm sure, but I do know that if you don't deliver a fiction piece it's this whole magazine that's in trouble, not just myself. We can't pretend the print business is doing so well these years, after all. Would you really wish me so ill that you'll allow the others to go down with me? I'm sure you'll be all right after everything's settled, but will Anathema-”

Crowley laughed. “Do you tell him or do I?” Anathema ignored him. “Anathema here's an heiress. Her crazy American mother got the idea to make her prove herself by working for a year before she'd get her inheritance. Could probably make a movie out of it, really. Because I'm sure you've already figured out why she stayed, right?”

Another pen hit him in the chest. He threw it back at her without looking, and it landed in her hair. 

Aziraphale let the new information glance off him just as Crowley had with the pen. “Very well. Anathema will be all right. But what of Newton? Or anyone else here?” He was suddenly wishing he'd gotten to know any of the others and especially that he'd remembered their names. He'd met some of them over the years at various parties his uncle had insisted on him coming to, but he got the feeling Crowley wouldn't care about people as conniving as Michael or Uriel. “Perhaps that Hastur fellow?”

“Hastur works for the security company, not for us,” Crowley said automatically. Aziraphale had him to rights, but didn't know him so hadn't figured it out yet. Crowley pushed himself up to standing, relishing how confused Aziraphale looked at the sudden height difference (he looked down, spotted the heels, and said nothing). “And fine. For the others, I'll do my usual piece. But I wasn't lying. I actually do have writer's block-”

“But your gardening articles-”

“Are from questions I get from an email inbox. The readers send me those. And yes, they do send in their ideas for fiction pieces but I have not yet found one I think would be worth writing.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “What do you usually do for writer's block?”

“Ngk. Different things, really. But none of them have been working lately.” This was completely true. Crowley had been trying to come up with an idea for either the magazine or even for his next novel but he kept drawing a blank on both accounts. He used to go for walks and feel the inspiration within minutes. Or he'd take a bath and have to jump out to jot down notes. These days the thoughts weren't coming, or the thoughts that did come didn't seem like promising leads. 

“We'll figure it out,” though whether Aziraphale was trying to convince Crowley or himself it was impossible for Crowley to be certain. 

“We'll?” Crowley repeated. “You gonna write it for me?”

“Well, no. I … I've never written anything. Nothing fictional, except for college courses that required it. But I mean it, Crowley. I'm not the only one depending on this. You can do what you want to punish me for taking Appleton's spot, but I don't think it's right, and don't think you think it's right, for you to take it out on anyone else here. Even if you and Anathema will bounce back just fine, the rest of us would not.”

“The rest of us?” Crowley was starting to feel like he was an echo, but he couldn't help it. He was feeling the anger start to rise again. How could Aziraphale lump himself in with the others, when he had the rich uncle who just dropped a job in his lap? He tried to control his breathing, since Aziraphale was right on this account – punishing Aziraphale purposely by screwing over everyone at the magazine would lead to far more job losses. Crowley couldn't bear that on his conscience. 

“Maybe we can figure it out together,” Aziraphale offered, clearly hating the idea. 

Crowley smirked and offered his hand for a handshake. It wouldn't be fun, exactly, and he wasn't sure it would help. But at the very least he could wring some joy out of causing Aziraphale some problems. Anathema was giving Aziraphale a sympathetic look, but she hadn't stepped in to stop him so Crowley figured he wasn't crossing too much of a line. The pair made plans for Aziraphale to come over to Crowley's next day after work. The Arrangement made, Crowley saluted Aziraphale and Anathema and then made his way out of the building. 

He had a lot to prepare for tomorrow, after all.


	3. The Snake, The Angel, and the Kind Madame Across the Hallway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added content warning: Some sexual stuff is referenced, but nothing gets explicit, I promise. No actions are shown or described.

Aziraphale took the bus everywhere. He had a license, of course. But he didn't have a car. And being at the whims of public transportation meant he ended up at Crowley's flat thirty-five minutes past when he'd said he'd be there. He didn't have Crowley's number so he hadn't been able to text or call to warn him. And sure, Crowley was a bit of a bastard, but Aziraphale did so hate to be rude. 

He knocked on the door – 332 – and a woman somewhere in her late middle ages opened the door. She looked him up and down carefully, and Aziraphale momentarily wondered whether she was Crowley's sister, mother or even possibly his wife. He didn't seem the type, really, but then it's not like he really knew the man.

“You my seven o'clock then, love? Or where you here for the séance? Because really those are only supposed to be Wednesdays these days, or sometimes by appointment.”

“I mean, I do have a prior arrangement,” Aziraphale tried to explain, “I mean, I was invited. Crowley?”

“Oh, did that sweet man direct you to me? He's a love, isn't he?”

Aziraphale almost rolled his eyes, but managed to resist the temptation. “Well, I did need to speak with him. He should be expecting me,” he checked the note he'd taken on his phone. Crowley had verbally confirmed his flat was 332. He was certain of it. 

“Yeah, he tries to drum up business for me where he can,” the woman explained, extending a hand. She held it out as though she expected a kiss on it, but Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to do it. He awkwardly changed it to a handshake. “He always sends me the gentlemanly type, like yourself. He's got a knack for it. You know, one time he sent me a woman and I didn't think I would be up for such a thing, but I really ought to-”

“Dear lady,” Aziraphale interrupted -

“Tracy. Madame Tracy, please.”

“Madame Tracy,” he released her hand, “I do believe Crowley is merely playing a prank on me. I'm not sure what services you offer,” he held a finger up when she started to open her mouth to explain, “Nor is it any of my business, I assure you. Whatever you do in your own home with whomever you choose is your business. But if you know Crowley then you should be able to direct me to him, right?”

Madame Tracy clucked her tongue. She was a sweet woman, and bright in some ways but easily lost in others. She fancied herself a surrogate mother to Crowley, and believed in this instance she had been sent a potential boyfriend to examine. With that thought in mind, she stared Aziraphale in the eyes. “Yes, I believe you'll do nicely for him,” she smiled reassuringly. “You have a nice, soft look to you. Crowley needs that. He's all sharp edges, in more ways than one, poor thing. You can tell him he has my approval. Ta, and have a lovely evening – but the walls are very thin, so just knock on the living room wall once so I know to turn music on - that's how thin, I'll hear it from anywhere in my apartment even from across the way- so just knock if you're going to-”

“I really think you've misread this situation,” Aziraphale insisted. “Could you please just tell me-”

“He's 333, dear,” she pointed to the door across the hall. “Very nice to meet you, Mr.?”

“Fell,” He said distractedly, giving her a wave before marching to Crowley's front door. Madame Tracy gave him another few words of encouragement before closing her door. He banged on the door with his fist. 

Crowley swung it open and without saying a word gestured for Aziraphale to come in. 

“I had a very interesting conversation with your neighbor,” Aziraphale huffed. 

“She's harmless,” Crowley said automatically. He was wondering if Aziraphale was the kind of person that would report Madame Tracy to authorities, and cursing himself for not thinking about that before he sent him over to her. 

“I'm certain she is,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I'm not worried about her. I'm more concerned you thought it would be alright to waste time by sending me over to her.”

“She can be a bit chatty,” Crowley closed the door and prepared himself a drink at the mini bar he kept in his living room. He knocked this back before offering Aziraphale a glass as well. He didn't give his guest any option on his drink, just shoved a rum in his hands. 

Aziraphale peered around, curious for this look into Crowley's psyche. He was surprised how clean the place was. He was certain Crowley wouldn't have cleaned it up for _his_ sake, so this must be just how the place always looked. The place wasn't exactly homey, though. It didn't have a lived in look and furniture was sparse. There was a black leather couch in the living room, which seemed to be the only seats other than a single bar stool in what must be the kitchen area. He took a seat on the couch and took a surreptitious glance at Crowley's bookshelf. There was only one floor to ceiling one, and he was surprised to find the top shelf was nothing but various copies of Pride and Prejudice. 

“Austen fan?”

“Just that one, really,” Crowley shrugged. 

“None of your own books?”

Crowley shrugged again. “Seemed a bit pompous to keep them around. I have a copy of one of them in my room. The second one they published. The one that almost got me booted from the industry.”

Aziraphale stiffened, deciding not to comment. It wouldn't do to tell Crowley his feelings on that particular work. “Well, then,” he took a sip of his drink and glanced around for a coaster. He couldn't find one so he set it down straight on the coffee table, wincing at the knowledge that it was cherry wood and he was likely about to leave a ring. He was about to ask where the coasters were, but Crowley came and sat on the other side of the couch, distracting him. 

“All right. So the thing is, I have some ideas but none of them are... good,” Crowley leaned himself over the back of the couch, fishing up a leather bag. From this he produced several papers, probably about six in all. “Each time I only got a page out before realizing it was all wrong. This was the best of them,” he shoved it in Aziraphale's hands.

Aziraphale started reading and put it down almost immediately. “...This is basically pornography.”

“I know,” Crowley said so evenly Aziraphale couldn't tell if that one had been a joke or not. 

“I believe our magazine is still marketed towards all age groups?”

“It is. That's why I said it won't work. It's just the best writing I've done recently. For fiction, anyway.”

“And you,” Aziraphale tried to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to accuse Crowley of anything, but the man had been insufferable in the short time Aziraphale knew him. “You can assure me that this isn't just to mess with me?”

“I wouldn't do that to the others,” Crowley was less defensive than Aziraphale expected him to be. “You're right, the three of us would land on our feet,” Aziraphale wondered vaguely who the third person in this situation was – obviously Crowley and Anathema had money, but was Newt hiding a secret fortune as well? It seemed unlikely. “But most of the others would have a hell of a time finding new employment. No relatives in the business, you know.”

Aziraphale accepted the bitterness without argument. It was true, after all. He didn't bother to remind Crowley of the deadline fast approaching before his uncle's patience would wear out. It was pointless. Even if there were strings attached, even if the deadline was almost impossible to guarantee anything of quality, the fact was it was an extra chance that would not be afforded to any of the others. And trying to point out to his uncle that Aziraphale was really just there to correct grammatical and spelling errors (and maybe some consistency and word flow, depending) was pointless. Once Uncle Gideon got an idea into his head he held onto it until the next passion took hold. And his current idea was that Aziraphale was young enough he'd be able to help bring in the readership (which was a laugh, as while Aziraphale wasn't as old as Gideon, he was far from being a spring chicken). 

“So what do we do?” Aziraphale picked his drink back up and leaned forward, his free hand on his knee. “We can't get an extension. I went through the past few years of the magazine – the issues themselves as well as how they each did. The Christmas special, since it's usually much longer than the others, always sells the best.”

“And last year we sold less than previous years for that edition,” Crowley pointed out. His drink was almost empty again. “And this year sales are down from all previous years. So we need a big idea.”

“Well,” Aziraphale cast about, trying to desperately think of any idea. “A romance?”

“That is ...inredibl...” Crowley downed the last of his drink and finished, “-ly vague. I can write all sorts of romance, there's usually an element of romance to all of my stories.”

“Yes, I know, but what if you made that the whole point of the story rather than have it at the edges? Did you know some people think the leads in 'Trying Our Hardest ' weren't in love with each other? There are great big internet arguments over if they're just really good friends!” Aziraphale wished he could shut up. He was giving something very important away right now, and Crowley seemed smart enough to pick up on it.

“Ugh, that whole argument again,” His sunglasses were on indoors again, but Aziraphale felt confident he was rolling his eyes behind them. “Who cares? The romance wasn't the point.”

“People like it - the romance, I mean,” Aziraphale said desperately. 

“Not in my experience,” Crowley said darkly. 

Aziraphale said nothing. He knew what Crowley was hinting at, but he couldn't tell him what he knew about that. It would be revealing too much of himself. And now that he knew the man he was more embarrassed about it. 

“So,” Crowley poured himself yet another drink. Aziraphale wondered if it was his intention to get drunk. Perhaps he worked better that way? He could only hope. “So, I write a romance. What happens in it, then?”

“Whatever happens when people fall in love!”

“And that is?”

Aziraphale threw up his hands. “I don't know! They ...they cuddle. They enjoy time together. They have meals. Whatever sells!”

“I mean, I already showed you what I had that would sell-”

“They don't necessarily have sex,” Aziraphale hissed. To his surprise, Crowley nodded his agreement. 

“Nah, some don't. I mean, I have to figure out characters. And don't forget, this is a short story...people need time to fall in love, usually.”

Aziraphale had to concede that point. “I know, but it's the best we have so far. Will you please do me the favor of working on it?”

“I have conditions.”

“Will they be reasonable?”

“I dunno,” Crowley admitted. “Probably depends on the definition of reasonable. First off, you keep coming over here. Writing alone gets boring for me,” Aziraphale felt like Crowley was putting one over on him. He'd read a few interviews and Crowley had always said that alone time was his greatest inspiration, “Two you pay for the next meal out – and that's all of us, Anathema, Newt, you and me. And if you could get it into Newt's skull to finally ask Anathema out, that'd be helpful but isn't technically a condition.”

“Newton is very shy, but I do believe Anathema returns his feelings. Why can't she just ask him? She seems forthright enough.”

“Don't even get me started on that,” Crowley sighed dramatically. Aziraphale decided not to remind him that he'd brought it up. “It's been like that between them since they met. No idea why one of them doesn't just bite the bullet.”

Aziraphale actually chuckled. Madame Tracy was right that Crowley was all sharp angles, but something softened in him when discussing his friends. Aziraphale held out hope that maybe this really was a kind man. Who had just happened to decide to hate Aziraphale completely. 

“I agree to your conditions,” Aziraphale agreed, extending his hand. 

Crowley took the proffered hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically, gripping a bit too hard. Aziraphale gripped back, pleased to find that Crowley looked taken aback and quickly released, turning around to try to hide that he was now rubbing his right hand with his left. Aziraphale had a strong grip and knew it. 

“And what am I to do while you're writing?”

“You'll read and correct immediately. But don't forget that I need to find the plot first. Give me a few days to think- and don't remind me that we don't have the time, I'm fully aware of where the situation stands. Ticking time bomb, really.”

“No pressure,” Aziraphale said sarcastically. “Should I just pop off, then?”

“Pop off?” Crowley repeated. “Oh, yeah. You can leave now,” he moved his hands in a shooing motion. “Out you go. Busy writer. Gotta come up with ideas and all that. See you at work tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale agreed, heading for the door. He pulled one of his old business cards out of his pocket - his cell phone number was scrawled on the back. He left it on the coffee table. “That's my number. In case you need to reach me.”

Crowley nodded but didn't say anything. Just held the door open for Aziraphale to leave. 

“Goodbye for now,” Aziraphale said with a hopeful smile. They'd gotten through a conversation and Crowley had treated him politely enough, he thought. Perhaps this whole business was behind them and they could start being friends? “See you in the morning,” he repeated. Crowley shut the door in his face.


	4. A Revealing Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the kind guest reviewer who pointed out that at the end of Chapter 2 I said they would be going to Aziraphale's and then I had them going to Crowley's in chapter 3. The mistake has been corrected. Also, content warning update for a brief mention of death in this chapter.

Crowley was up to his usual tricks again, though he was a bit more proud of this one. He'd talked to security handed out a few bribes and ...finally just went and messed with some things at the end of his very long lunch break. The effect was as intended. The employee parking lot had to be badged out of – and now the gate wouldn't lift. 

The problem was that now he was stuck behind everyone else as security tried and failed, yet again, to figure out how to undo his latest plan. He was scanning around, trying to figure out which car in the very long line might be Aziraphale's, but he didn't see the man in any of them. He honked his horn. “Hastur! Ligur,” both guards looked up and glared at him, “How long's this going to take?” He hadn't told him his exact plan, so they couldn't prove he was behind this. But the way they were looking at him told him they knew. 

“It takes as long as it takes,” Ligur shouted back at him. “Unless you know how to fix it?”

Breaking things was easy. Fixing them was much harder. Crowley shrugged, rolled his window back up and turned on the radio to try to wait things out. He closed his eyes and tried to let himself get lost in the music. Odds were it would be another hour before he could get out of the parking garage, and he'd already been in this line for twenty minutes. 

He heard a knock at his window and unrolled it. “Seriously?” Anathema stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. She had been directly behind him in line in her Prius. “Did you even think to ask which car he drove?”

“What does it matter? It gets him, doesn't it?”

“One – this was a stupid idea and you've bothered everyone by doing this. And two,” and though she was still irritated she allowed herself a smile now, because this next bit was going to hurt “He doesn't own a car. And you only did the parking lot badge out. He was able to get out the front door, the way everyone else who walks or takes the bus does.”

Crowley groaned. Ok, not one of his best ideas, admittedly. 

“He told us all that his first day, by the way. If you'd paid attention to what he'd said at lunch instead of just glaring at him the whole time.”

“Anathema, don't suppose you could?”

She growled at him but made her way towards security and the badge machine. She had a knack for making things right and for clearing up some of his worse messes. He made a mental note that he especially owed her for this one and maybe, just maybe, it might be nice to do an office breakfast on him tomorrow morning since this misfire had hit everyone except the intended target (though he was pleased to see that Gabriel was several cars back, also looking frustrated. There was one plus among a whole mess of minuses). 

Anathema looked it over and chatted with Ligur for a moment. Then she kicked at the machine. Crowley heard a loud beep, even with his window rolled back up. Hastur tested his badge and the arm went up. Anathema took a bow and a few people honked their cars in appreciation as she made her way back to her car. She glared at Crowley again as she passed him. Ok, so he _really_ owed her this time. He'd have to figure out a good enough 'so sorry, still friends?' gift when he got home tonight. 

He followed the line of cars as they all exited, noting that it was pouring when he finally made his way out of the garage. It had been threatening rain all morning but it was only now coming down. He cursed – the Bentley was in need of new windshield wipers. They worked, but the visibility was bad enough that he had to throw off his sunglasses or chance getting into a wreck. 

He pulled up at a stop light – it quickly flashed from red to green, but as he started to press the accelerator someone darted in front of him. He hit the brakes just in time to see Aziraphale grabbing desperately for an umbrella that was trying to float away from him. Aziraphale gave him an embarrassed look, then ran back to the side walk, foisting the umbrella into the arms of a young woman with a pram. She touched his arm, looking grateful. Apparently it was her umbrella he'd gone diving into traffic for. She held the umbrella aloft, gripping it more tightly now, directing it so it kept as much water as possible off her baby carriage. 

Crowley watched in fascination, ignoring the honks from behind him telling him to hurry it up. The light turned red again. Aziraphale was trying to wave the woman off, getting more soaked by the minute. It appeared he didn't have an umbrella himself. He had a coat, but it didn't have a hood. Sighing to himself, Crowley waited for the light to turn green then went up just enough of a ways to turn back. He pulled up alongside Aziraphale and honked at him. 

Aziraphale jumped. Crowley reached over and unrolled the passenger's side window. “Get in.”

Aziraphale obeyed automatically, but seemed to think better of it once he was in the car. “Oh. Um. Sorry, was I supposed to come to yours today? I thought you needed a bit more time to figure the story out?”

“Try not to drip too much,” Crowley said, not meaning it. “And roll the window back up, please.” Aziraphale did ask he was asked. 

Crowley pretended to be too busy concentrating on the road to speak. He hadn't expected that kind of display of kindness from anyone related to Gideon. He could feel himself softening, and he hated it. “Where's your umbrella?”

“Well,” Aziraphale looked down, “I couldn't find it this morning. And I normally take the bus, but I was a little delayed by Gabriel before I was able to leave today. It seems he and my uncle are quite serious that I should -” he seemed to realize that Crowley was not the right person for him to be speaking of this with and clammed up. “Well, I was delayed and I missed the bus. I could have waited, but it would have been at least another forty minutes before another one, and I figured ...well, the walk's only twenty minutes, why not, right? Then that poor thing lost her umbrella and with the baby and all, I had to try to help...”

“And almost get run over in the process,” Crowley pointed out. 

“Yes, I suppose I did. Thank you for not hitting me.”

Crowley only nodded at him. “Where's your place?”

“Oh. Um. Straight up through the next three lights, then take a left. The ...The Headquarters, if you know it?”

Crowley didn't, though the name had the ring of familiarity to it. They went along in silence until they reached The Headquarters. Crowley had to stop himself from letting his jaw drop when he saw it. To say it was ...less than what he expected was a severe overstatement. Or understatement, he couldn't be sure. This place was dilapidated, run down, destitute... He was quickly running out of synonyms to explain it. It looked ready to fall in on itself. He pulled up to the side of the building and parked then turned off his engine. He had a nagging suspicion and he needed to confirm it. So without asking if it was all right, he made his way behind Aziraphale to follow him in. 

If Aziraphale had a problem with that, he didn't say anything. He lead the way and nearly bumped into an older man wearing a mackintosh. 

“Yer rent,” the man grumbled. 

“Yes, Mr. Shadwell, I know. You shall have it before end of day tomorrow. I would like to remind you that it isn't actually due until tomorrow, by the way.”

“Yes, yes,” the man, Shadwell, waved him off. “Just see ye get it t' me.” Crowley was distracted by the man – what on earth was that accent, anyway? He resisted the urge to flip Shadwell off when he heard him mutter “ye great southern pansy” under his breath, the insult apparently meant for Aziraphale. 

“This is mine,” Aziraphale said as they reached the end of the hallway. “Good old apartment seven. Thank you for seeing me in?” It was a question, and one Crowley didn't feel like answering. He followed Aziraphale inside the apartment, intending on getting himself some more answers. Once more Aziraphale allowed the intrusion without question.

It was a small room. Mostly clean, and full of books. Crowley realized you could probably fit Aziraphale's apartment inside Crowley's multiple times and still have room to spare. This was ...tiny, and not in a cozy way. It felt almost claustrophobic. He remembered, finally, where he'd heard of The Headquarters before. This was the low rent area, the kind no one ever lived in unless they had to. Aziraphale may have had rich relatives, but that didn't extend to him. 

“How much is he paying you?” Crowley hadn't mean for it to come out as rude as he did. 

“I'm sorry?”

“Your uncle. How much does he give you for your copy editing job?”

“Well, I admit it's below market rate, but to be fair he was doing me a favor ...and he has promised that if I can deliver a good enough edition that will start a review and he may add a raise to it.” Aziraphale sat down on his couch (tartan, Crowley noted, not his style but very much Aziraphale's). “You must understand, there aren't a whole lot of jobs right now.”

“So your uncle had you over a barrel...and he'd been wanting rid of Appleton for a while, I think. It's obvious in retrospect.” Appleton had never caused any problems, but he wasn't the kind to let Gideon talk down to him. And unlike Crowley, he was easy to replace. 

“He wanted to help me,” Aziraphale insisted, but it was obvious that he wasn't convinced either. “I _think_ he wanted to help me. Gideon was my mother's brother. They were close until she married my father.” Crowley remained quiet, hoping Aziraphale would continue. He did. “Age old story. Married for love instead of money, disowned by the rest of the family ...Gideon got all of the family money when my grandparents passed. My parents were still happy together, though. Until the accident that took both of them, but I think that's how they would have liked to go. Together, I mean. Not in an accident. ...Oh dear, you're here and I haven't offered you anything to drink..”

“It's all right. I invited myself in,” Crowley assured him. “You should get out of those clothes and put something dry on before you get sick.” Aziraphale nodded and disappeared into another room, presumably his bedroom. While he was doing that Crowley found the kettle and put it on, mentally berating himself the whole time.

He'd read this whole situation wrong. Aziraphale was a kind soul, the kind who nearly got himself killed just to help someone. Anathema wasn't the only one Crowley owed a massive 'sorry' present to. He blanched, realizing he'd made Aziraphale pay for their lunch today, as part of their agreement. And Crowley had not picked out a cheap place, either. 

Aziraphale came out of his bedroom in new, dry clothes and eyed the kettle. “Oh, tea is a lovely idea, should warm me right up,” if he was upset Crowley had been digging around he made no mention of it. “Would you like a cup? I'll get out the leaves.”

The kitchen was cramped, and he had to brush against Crowley to reach up into a cabinet. “Jasmine I think will be nice.” Crowley just nodded. They waited there, standing completely still in silence until the whistle of the kettle rang out. Aziraphale whisked out two cups and prepared the jasmine tea before offering Crowley milk and his choice of honey or sugar (Crowley declined the milk but added a few spoonfuls of sugar). 

They drank in silence as Crowley cast about for the right words. I'm sorry didn't seem strong enough. But he couldn't think of any alternative, except “Listen. I'm ...I'm going to try really hard on this story, I swear. We'll figure something out. I haven't been trying hard enough, but I'm going to do it.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale had the most curious expression on his face now. Crowley couldn't read what it meant. 

“Yes,” Crowley said firmly, even though he knew writer's block was not something that would always allow itself to be overcome. 

“I had an idea on that, actually,” Aziraphale disappeared into his bedroom again and came back clutching a book, which he put on the kitchen counter and slid to Crowley. A copy of Crowley's second book - “Moonlight Upon Our Face”. 

“You have a copy of this?” Crowley picked it up and flipped through. There was his hand writing on the title page – Aziraphale not only had a copy, he had a _signed_ copy. The inscription was:

_For A: your mother says this is your favorite. You have terrible taste, but I appreciate it. All the best – Anthony J Crowley_

“No one liked this book,” Crowley said softly. “The publishers weren't even sure about it...because of the ending.”

“Yes, finding out the lovers never actually met, and were only having dreams of each other seemed to disappoint some people,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I thought it was sweet. It seemed to me more about lost opportunities and I liked to believe that they met each other in the real world. At some point. Which is why..”

“You want me to do a follow up story to the book everyone hated?”

“They hated the ending,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And I didn't hate it, thank you.” 

The silence started back up again as everything Aziraphale said sunk in. Crowley was thinking everything over, examining every single way he'd gotten things wrong. Aziraphale was not only a nice person, he was the only one who seemed to understand what Crowley had been getting at with his second book. It was his favorite book, at least according to the note Crowley himself had signed in it. Apparently Crowley had met Aziraphale's mother while she was still alive, though he'd done enough signings by now that he found it impossible to figure out what she'd looked like when he'd met her or even what she'd said to him. 

“So they meet,” Aziraphale was explaining. “Alex and Carter. They meet outside the dreams. It's a promised follow up to a book that people enjoyed you know ...until that ending.” His smile was shy but a little teasing. It was ...cute, Crowley realized, internally cursing himself. 

_Oh no. Not now. Not him. You put him through so much, you're lucky he can stand to be in the room with you right now,_ Crowley chastised himself. 

“But you liked the ending,” Crowley took another sip of his tea, just to have something to do with his hands. He was trying not to stare now. 

“Yes, I did. But you wrote this what... ten years ago? I don't want to tell you to fix the ending. You're right, I like it how it is. But there are uh..,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, clearly not wanting to be out with it, but having to anyway. “There are forums. Online, fans of yours. Many of whom wanted a sequel to this book, for you to 'fix' it.”

Crowley scowled. He liked the ending as it was, and he'd finally found the seemingly one soul on Earth who agreed with him. And now even that person was asking him to redo it.

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale stared into the depths of his tea rather than looking at Crowley. “This is probably terribly demanding of me, asking you to take something you created and -”

“No. It's- It's a good idea, I think. At the very least it's marketable. We can get someone in marketing to draw it up, let people know I'm doing a follow up after all this time,” Crowley pulled a face. This was going to be his penance, or at least the very start of it. “I'll do a work up for it, we'll do a meeting with Gabriel and Michael – she's the head of marketing, I don't know if you've met her yet? - maybe even Gideon himself, if we have to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am. Thank you for... thank you for the idea. And,” Crowley was choking on the words, but he forced them out anyway. “I'm sorry. I ...I didn't know how bad it was. I really thought... doesn't matter what I thought, but I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for?” Aziraphale prompted, but he was smiling. Apparently the bastard wanted him to spell everything out. 

“Everything. The chair, making you buy lunch, bothering you...I tried something else today but uh... well, you were the only one who wasn't affected, so... but I guess I'm still sorry about that, too, because a whole lot of people are going to be mad for the rest of the day and take it out on others who take it out on someone else and …”

“I accept your apology. But can you also promise there will be no further... monkey business going forward?”

“Monkey business?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, I can't promise I'm going to start being nice,” Crowley polished off the rest of his tea, “But I will try to work with you and I won't do any more pranks. They were stupid, really. We can work together on this and ...I mean, you're familiar with the characters, so you could I dunno, help out. Like we were still planning. You can come to my place a few nights a week and we can brainstorm.”

“And you'll put in an honest effort?”

“Yes. This could be a good idea, I can make this work,” Crowley insisted. 

Aziraphale nodded, pointedly checked his pocket watch, then raised his eyebrows at Crowley – a polite non verbal move to tell him it was time to head out. 

“Right, I'll just get out of your hair,” He moved for the door, but stopped short. “I- uh. I could give you a lift to work from now on.”

“You're late every day.”

“True, true. I could give you a lift home, then?”

“But Crowley, then you'd have to actually work your whole day every day,” Aziraphale pointed out with a teasing smile. Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale's smile was brilliant when he looked truly happy, like right now. 

_He's a coworker, and this would be a bad idea. Abort, abort, abort ...no, it's fine_ Crowley was doing a quite amazing series of mental gymnastics. _It's fine. He won't take you up on this anyway, and you'll be able to work with him in a professional capacity only. This is just a little crush, it will go away._

“I would greatly appreciate it,” And now Aziraphale was beaming at him. 

“Right. Good. Glad to know it. Uh... I will see you tomorrow,” Crowley practically ran out of the apartment and didn't slow down until he reached his car. He took several deep breaths in before he fished his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Anathema.

_I told Aziraphale I'm sorry. Sorry to you as well. Thanks for saving me. What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? The whole company, my treat, so not too much $$$, please_

He may have been faster than her on a keyboard, but her texting skills were far beyond his. The answer came before he could even put his key in the ignition. 

_It should be steak and lobster for that much trouble, but doughnuts and_ GOOD _coffee should make up for it, or at least put people in a better mood. When did you talk to Aziraphale?_

Crowley pressed the button to dial her instead. She would have tons of questions and if they did this over text he'd never be able to get everything out. The minute she answered, he launched right into it. “I'm at his apartment. Leaving his apartment. I ended up giving him a ride home.”

“Crowley, that was nice of you!”

“I'm not nice,” he sniffed. “Turns out he is, though. You were right. I feel like the world's biggest tosser.”

“Maybe not the biggest one,” she offered as a compromise. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I need to get home,” Crowley agreed, hanging up after a perfunctory bye. He was going to have to reread his own novel tonight and he wasn't looking forward to it. He still liked the writing, thought it was one of his better works, really. But Aziraphale had been right, most of the public hadn't responded well to that ending. He sighed and headed back home. He'd be up all night, probably. Oh well. He was already going to have to buy coffee for everyone else tomorrow. He made a mental note that he was going to need a few double shots of espresso in addition to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one thinks this is too fast a turn around for Crowley. After rewatching and rereading the scenes for Eden, I always got the feeling he fell in love when he heard "I gave it away", so for him I thought it made sense that once he really bothered to look at who Aziraphale truly is, he was going to immediately fall in love.


	5. Apology Doughnuts and Misunderstandings

Aziraphale was surprised to see that Crowley had managed to beat him to work today. In fact, as Aziraphale made his way in Crowley was going from desk to desk with boxes of doughnuts with Anathema assisting him in passing the goods out – she was offering coffee to anyone who took a doughnut.

The pair made their way back to their own chairs after Crowley threw all but one box away. Apparently he was at the end of his supply. Aziraphale tried not to look too overeager. The doughnut emblem emblazoned on the box was Do Nut Harm Others – one of those ritzy over priced places that charged three or four dollars per doughnut. He'd had one before and it had been the best doughnut he'd ever had. But it was too much money to justify often. He sincerely hoped there would still be one by the time the box reached him. 

“Oh, could I have one?” Newt leaned over the side of Crowley's cubicle wall and started to reach for a doughnut. Crowley allowed this at first, but then slapped Newt's hand away at the last moment.

“Not that one.”

“Ok, sorry,” Newt changed course and his hand emerged with a doughnut with a childishly blue frosting with flakes of cereal on the top. This was allowed, and Anathema wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee to go with it. “Thanks,” he took a swig of the coffee, then turned his attention back to Crowley. “What's the occasion?”

“Nothing. Can't I do something nice for my fellow coworkers?” 

Aziraphale stifled a laugh, but Crowley heard him. To his surprise, instead of looking annoyed Crowley shot him a conspiratorial wink. Ah. So now they were a team, were they? Part of him wanted to be annoyed, but he found he couldn't. So he tried his best to hide how pleased he was with the current turn of events and decided to put most of his focus on his work. Except now Crowley had approached him with the box of doughnuts. 

Well, at this point, doughnut. There was only one left in the box – one of those ones that obviously had a filling, but he couldn't tell if it was cream or custard or jelly from the outside. There was a glaze of white frosting on the top, and then that had been painted over with golden edible glitter. 

“'S called a 'halo',” Crowley explained. “I dunno, supposed to be a pretty big calorie bomb but the guy who makes 'em swore it's the best one.”

“You only got one of these?”

“Yes.”

“And you..saved it for me?” Aziraphale put a hand to his chest, touched. Yesterday he would have assumed there was some nasty surprise waiting for him at the center of the doughnut, but he could tell Crowley was being sincere. This was an apology, the kind Crowley didn't seem to be capable of verbalizing. 

“Go on then,” Crowley shoved the box in Aziraphale's hands and went back to his own seat. “Anathema can give you some of the coffee if you want it, but I feel like you probably prefer tea?”

“Already set there,” Aziraphale held up his thermos. He'd learned quickly that the office tea wasn't up to his standards and had started to bring his own. “Thank you. Both of you. It was quite kind of you.” He delicately lifted the doughnut out of its box and took another moment to admire it before biting down. The center was a mix of custard and lemon curd. It was delightful. He closed his eyes, savoring it. When he finished he opened his eyes and realized Crowley had been watching him. He strongly suspected he'd been watched the whole time he ate, and he suddenly felt self conscious. He brushed the crumbs off himself and then the crumbs off his computer desk before he launched himself back into work. 

It was only a few minutes later that he got the meeting invite.

**Meeting: 10 am  
Room 402 A  
Attendees: Gabriel, Aziraphale, Crowley, Michael  
RE: Christmas Story**

He would only have half an hour to get work done before he'd have to go to the meeting. Crowley seemed to work fast when motivated. Aziraphale had expected that he'd want to have more of a pitch put together before they'd present the idea up the ladder. He wished he'd had more warning. He also wished he had a lint roller – there was edible glitter on his shirt now. 

He brushed at it again in vain before giving up and getting what little work done he could. He kept glancing at the clock in the lower right corner of his screen. He wasn't sure he could sell this idea to Gabriel. Aziraphale's cousin had never been one for reading. Especially not popular fiction. Hopefully at least Michael could see the merit in the idea. 

“All right then,” Crowley tapped him on the shoulder at nine fifty-eight. “It's usually best to be the first ones in there. Gabriel's always late but Michael is always exactly on time. A little game they like to play with people.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to defend them, then thought better of it. They needed to be united right now, and he had to admit Crowley's assessments of Gabriel, at least, had been correct so far. He couldn't really say if Crowley was right about Michael. She hadn't struck Aziraphale as a pleasant person the last few times he'd interacted with her, but they'd never had a full conversation. But she always vacillated between looking smug and looking annoyed.

Crowley led the way to the meeting room and sat down in the chair at the head of the table, motioning for Aziraphale to take one of the empty seats near him. 

“Shouldn't we let Gabriel have the head seat?”

“The seat at the head is for the person who's in control. We need to be in control here.”

Aziraphale could see the wisdom in it, so he didn't argue. He took the seat Crowley had indicated and adjusted it until he could sit up perfectly straight. Michael, as Crowley predicted, arrived at exactly 10 am. She strolled in, surveyed the room and then took the seat farthest away from them that was still at the table. Aziraphale gave her an awkward smile. She merely nodded. 

“Well, if we're all here then?” Crowley started. Aziraphale started to protest, then realized Crowley was joking. 

“He'll get here when he's ready,” Michael said with a put upon sigh. There was a phone in the middle of the table, the kind of interoffice contraption meant to mostly dial inside the building. Aziraphale pondered why they didn't just use that to call Gabriel in, but then thought better of it. Crowley was right. This was a power play, to get them to wait. Though what Gabriel got out of it, Aziraphale couldn't begin to imagine. 

It was ten after when Gabriel finally strolled in. 

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” his smile was jovial and his tone was friendly. But he didn't sound sorry. Crowley and Michael nodded their hellos at Gabriel. Aziraphale gave a small wave. “So,” Gabriel took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Crowley. “What was it that you came up with? And why did you want Aziraphale here?”

“Because it was Aziraphale's idea,” Crowley said simply. “Look – what do you know about my second book – 'Moonlight Upon Our Face'?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel admitted.

“I know it sold well and people hated the ending,” Michael had apparently done her research. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Crowley pulled out his phone and moved to Michael's side – he showed her the screen and started scrolling through it with her. Aziraphale wondered what they were looking at so intently, but it seemed Michael was quickly picking up on Crowley's intentions. “These are all people who wish you would write more about it. Because they want the lovers to be together.”

“And the point is?” Gabriel looked bored. Or perhaps just annoyed that Crowley was sharing details with Michael before him. 

“The point is,” Crowley now moved to show Gabriel what he'd already showed Michael. “This is several thousands of people on an internet thread eager for more of this story. So long as the lovers finally meet each other-”

“They didn't meet in the original book?” Gabriel made a face. 

Crowley ignored him and pressed on. “Bunch of people sad at Christmas, they all want their happy endings. Love stories do better around this time of year, sometimes even better than at Valentine's – because that day just makes you think about how alone you are, depressing holiday, really. Should just get rid of the damn thing, if you ask-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chastised.

“Right, right. Anyway. People want happy endings around this time of year. And there's a built in market for this. We promote it. The true ending – the lovers finally meet, it's canon-”

“Canon?” Michael and Gabriel said in unison.

“Ah. A ..uh,” Aziraphale shifted awkwardly. “Well, these days, it's mostly a fan term for what is actually in the text – as in, not just supplementary or how a lot of them interpreted the story. Though originally it was in reference to Biblical texts which-” he realized he was off on a tangent now. “Not important. Sorry. You get the gist, I'm sure.”

“So we promise that they get together,” Crowley continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. “And we fulfill it. But maybe now they just meet. And they start to fall in love around Christmas. Ties it all up in a neat little bow.”

“And this was Aziraphale's idea?” Gabriel repeated.

“Yes,” Crowley said firmly. “He and I will be working on it together.”

“I still need you editing stories,” Gabriel's focus was on his cousin now. “How will you fit this in with everything else?”

“Oh, no need to fit it in,” Aziraphale explained. “I've been going around to Crowley's and we'll be working on it there after hours. It won't interfere with my day-to-day work in the slightest, I can promise.”

Gabriel blinked, apparently trying to piece things together. He looked from Aziraphale to Crowley and back again before nodding. “I ...see.” Aziraphale had never before heard someone speak in a way that sounded like it indicated winking, with no hint of them actually winking. He wasn't sure what Gabriel was thinking right now. 

“It's a good idea,” Michael admitted. “I can definitely get some feelers out now to make sure the interest is there and to drum up some sales. It should be easy enough to promote. Maybe we can get some of the fans to make some art for us.”

“Oh, like an art competition? What kind of prize would we be able to give them?” Aziraphale wondered aloud. 

“The prize will be knowing their work got to be used for something they cared about,” Michael insisted. Aziraphale frowned, but didn't argue. 

“Point is we know it will sell,” Crowley insisted. “It's a good idea.”

Gabriel seemed to still be muddling it over. “It will expand readership,” Aziraphale pointed out. “The book is still being talked about, all these years later. People who liked it want more of it. Those who didn't care for it were mostly upset about the ending, which we're ...well...” he really didn't want to call it fixing again. He loved that book, and he felt like he was attacking Crowley by suggesting it needed to be fixed. “We're amending it. There's some controversy there, and that always courts additional sales, I believe.”

“All right. Michael, start working this out with some advertisers, see if they can link this together. I'm thinking at least one jewelry spread, engagement rings especially. Any big names that this would interest, get them in on it.”

“I'll compile a list and send it to you in a few hours,” Michael agreed. Even if she wasn't pleasant, Aziraphale had to admit she was on top of things. “I'll get started now.” She pushed herself off and left without another word. 

“Excellent work you two.” Gabriel was back to smiling, and it was making Aziraphale nervous. He was glad his cousin was on board, of course he was – but there was an edge to that smile and Aziraphale couldn't discern its meaning. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale returned the smile, even if his nervousness was creeping into it. “I think you'll be glad to know that most of what's been sent to me for the other articles and stories has been edited. We're on track for what I believe will be an excellent issue.”

Gabriel only nodded at him. 

“Well, if that's all?” Crowley pushed himself to standing. “Lovely meeting, boss, hope to do it again some time. I've got one more write up to do about plants and then it's just focusing on this story, so I best get to it.” Crowley dismissed himself, leaving Gabriel and Aziraphale alone in the meeting room. 

“So,” Gabriel said as soon as Crowley closed the door behind him, “You've been keeping things from us.”

“I mean, this idea was fairly new, we only came up with it-”

“Not the story idea,” Gabriel brushed it off. “I asked you yesterday about your date for the Christmas party and asked you if you had anyone special and you told me no.”

Aziraphale blinked several times, feeling like his brain was a very old computer on a dial up modem. The words Gabriel was saying made sense to him individually, but strung together like that? He wasn't sure where Gabriel was going with this. 

“I told you, we're fine with who you are, I promise! Pro BLT...LG...you know, the whole alphabet thing. And Crowley? I mean, he's not the sort I thought you'd go for, to be honest, but dad and I just want to see you settled and happy. Really. He's going to be thrilled – dad's been talking about trying to set you up with someone, but he said he didn't know any gay men.”

Gabriel continued for a few more moments, but Aziraphale didn't hear anything else he said. He was finally starting to realize what Gabriel had meant and he wasn't even sure where to start with it. 

“Aziraphale?” Gabriel repeated, snapping his fingers in front of Aziraphale's face. 

“So sorry. I – I believe you may have the wrong idea here.”

“You've been going to his apartment,” Gabriel said as though that answered everything. “It's ok! I told you, it's ok. And Crowley has money, so dad will be even more thrilled. You already came out to us, I'll take care of preparing dad for ...well, I mean, dad's met Crowley. He knows how he is. But it should put him in a great mood to know you're taking his advice about settling down.”

“A great mood?” Aziraphale repeated, feeling like he was going numb. 

“Yeah. I told you, usually after that last Christmas drink things start turning around....but this kind of news will make him pretty happy. Obviously you still aren't on the traditional path, but it's getting closer! Dad's going to be just so -...what's that word you and the others use sometimes? 'Chuffed'! That's it. He'll be chuffed.”

One would think having been in England for several years Gabriel might have picked up more of the slang, but he seemed to reject it out hand in favor of his American dialect. Sometimes Aziraphale found it amusing, but right now it was just another thing to distract him from his intention of setting Gabriel straight. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to explain the truth, but – but ...but... well, while Aziraphale had every confidence Crowley would write a good story, there was no guarantee it would sell. And if it didn't sell, Aziraphale would be out of a job. Unless his uncle were in a good enough mood for just a bit longer. The Christmas issue went out shortly before Christmas so the sales numbers would be in before the Christmas party (of course, not all sales would be expected to be made the first day, but still...). If Aziraphale could stay on Gideon's good side for longer, wouldn't that be in his best interest? 

Aziraphale closed his mouth. “I should get back to work,” he said, decidedly neither confirming nor denying Gabriel's suspicions. 

“Of course,” Gabriel waved him off. Aziraphale slogged his way back to his desk and collapsed in his chair. He would get back to work, of course he would. But in the mean time...he had to puzzle over how to break this development to Crowley. And more importantly, figure out if he would be willing to play along with it. Just until after Christmas, at least. Aziraphale sighed and looked over at Crowley, who was contentedly pecking at his keyboard. He seemed to realize he was being watched and glanced up in Aziraphale's direction. As always, the sunglasses made him even harder to read. 

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley and then turned back to face his monitor. Ok. So. They were working as a team now. And Crowley was ...well, admittedly, very handsome. Aziraphale had realized that from day one, of course, but it was even more obvious now that Crowley wasn't trying to make Aziraphale's life harder. But getting along and dating were two very different things. 

But then, they wouldn't be dating, would they? It was just a little subterfuge. Crowley had seen Aziraphale's apartment, he knew how desperately Aziraphale needed this job. Aziraphale sighed, resigned. It was finally Friday. He'd have the weekend to puzzle out exactly how to explain this. And more importantly, how to get Crowley to agree to go along with it.


	6. Moonlight Upon Our Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of a hospital, coma and drunk driving are mentioned in the chapter but do not involve any of the Good Omens characters. Trigger warnings will be updated to reflect this.

_Carter's eyes fluttered open, staring overhead at fluorescent lights. He heard a faint beeping noise, but at first couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It was only when he lifted his arm and felt the tug of an iv there that he started to panic._

_He was in a hospital._

_This couldn't be right. He'd just said goodbye to Alex a moment ago. Then..._

_Then what?_

_He didn't remember going home, but he also didn't remember being invited into Alex's home. No, it was just the words. Just 'I love you, Carter. Goodnight.'. Then Alex had blushed and run inside and then. Nothing. What had happened? He pushed the nurse button and waited, hoping for answers. He couldn't find his cell phone, so he couldn't call Alex to let him know what had happened. He tapped on the side of the bed as he waited, certain that it had been hours since he'd pressed the call button._

_In reality, it was only five minutes later that a prim looking woman came in. Not a nurse – her id declared she was the doctor. She eyed him up and down. “Finally back with us, eh?”_

_He nodded, but when he tried to speak it came out in a hoarse squeak._

_“Try not to push yourself too hard,” she softened and gave him a kind smile. “You've been here a while.”_

_“How,” He coughed, “How did it happen? Am I ok?”_

_“Drunk driver, love. Banged you up pretty badly. You've been in a coma for,” she grabbed his chart and flipped through. “Oh. Five months.”_

_Five months. He wondered if Alex knew what had happened. Carter hadn't told his family about his boyfriend yet. They'd only met each other a month ago, from Carter's perspective. But from what the doctor was saying, it must have been six months ago. He worried for a moment that Alex would have moved on already, but insisted to himself that Alex wasn't like that. He'd wait. Was probably beside himself with worry._

_Of course he was also worried about how his family was taking this, but with him awake and mostly feeling ok they would probably just be thrilled._

_“At least you woke up in time for Christmas, eh?” she smiled and he returned it until her words finally sunk in._

_Christmas._

_If he'd been in a coma for five months … No, that couldn't be right. He'd met Alex right after a Halloween party. He fumbled for the phone beside the bed and made a call to his parents._

_“Mum?”_

_“Carter! Carter, you're awake!”_

_“Yes, yes I am. Thanks,” he wanted to let her focus on her happiness and to celebrate that he was fine. She was probably so relieved. But all he could think about right now was Alex. “Mum. I think I misunderstood something...I was awake at Halloween? Right?”_

_“Oh, sweetie, I don't know what the doctor wants you to know. It – It might be a bit hard to hear.”_

_“Mum, please. She said it's been five months, but I remember this Halloween so clearly. I can't – I can't have been asleep for that. And I always come around to yours and we watch those stupid American horror films. We did that this year, right?” He hated the pleading notes in his voice, but he was desperate for her to confirm that the doctor was wrong._

_“I'm sorry, love. You were asleep. But maybe you have memories because I came by that day?” She asked, “Because I brought that silly little portable DVD player your dad has and I played you a few movies. I guess that got through to you a bit.”_

_“Must have,” he tried to hide his disappointment, but she knew him too well for that._

_“What's wrong, love?”_

_“Nothing, mum. Just a uh...just a very long dream, I guess.”_

_“Well, I hope it was a lovely one. Though I'm so glad you're back with us. Your father and I will be coming round to pick you up as soon as the doctor says we can. I love you so much, Carter.”_

_“I love you too, mum. And dad. Thanks. I'll. ...I'll see you when you get here, I guess. Thanks.”_

_In another hospital across the city, Alex sat up in his own hospital bed and opened his eyes._

_The End_

Crowley finished reading _Moonlight Upon Our Face_ again and put the book down. Depressing ending, he had to admit. He thought it was hopeful at the time, but now he wasn't so sure. At least there was the implication it had been more than a dream, since he confirmed Alex's existence. 

He picked up a pen and tapped it against his leg as he thought. He'd been taking notes on little index cards as he read through this time, trying to hold on to the important details. But all that kept coming up was the mood he'd been in when he'd started writing and when he'd finished – that and a few notes chastising himself for not doing more research on comas or hospitals. He was sure he'd gotten loads of things wrong about both. 

This book had been years worth of work. He'd started it when he was in his twenties and kept coming back and adding to it. He hadn't know when he'd started that the lovers were never going to meet. It hadn't been his intention. Some more honest part of himself said the ending reflected his own hopelessness in the area of romance. He'd just gotten started with a guy around the time he got to the more romantic moments. And then things had just fizzled with him and so, it seems, had the ending. Crowley's feelings often bled their way into whatever he was writing. 

His ex, Max, wasn't really at fault here, Crowley knew. In fact, Crowley had been the one to break things off. They just weren't compatible. There was something missing the whole time and while it had been fun while it lasted Crowley's feelings had never developed past a deep like for Max. He'd enjoyed his company and had expected that sooner or later those feelings would become love. But it never happened. 

It would surprise most people to find that Crowley was a secret romantic at heart. Anathema was probably the only one who knew, and only because he was so focused on her love life that she had insisted on spending some time talking about his. They'd had the long, late night discussions about what they wanted in partners and while he mostly focused on what she wanted, he would sometimes let her in and know that he was actually lonely and was the kind who wanted to let someone in. He just hadn't found the right man yet. 

He grumbled and jotted down a few notes, just details from the book so he wouldn't forget them. It was a good way to get organized, but it wasn't exactly inspiring anything new. Sure, obviously, the next step was to have Alex and Carter meet in the real world. But how? And would they both recognize each other? It would be the easiest way, sure, but easy didn't always make for good writing.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, glad to have the distraction. It was a text message from Aziraphale. 

_Sorry to trouble you, but I'd hoped we could start getting some work done this weekend. If we could meet up some place? Though if you'd prefer to work on your own, that's understandable._

Crowley smirked and texted back.

_Nbd. U come 2 mine l8r?_

Normally Crowley didn't text like this, but he wanted to mess with Aziraphale in a mostly harmless way. His intentions were no longer malicious, but the way Aziraphale got all flustered...it was adorable, really. 

He waited for the answer, which compared to Anathema's speedy texts seemed to take forever to come.

_Terribly sorry, I don't understand what you just typed. Was that a yes or a no?_

Crowley chuckled and pressed the call button on his phone. Aziraphale answered immediately. 

“Hey, it's me,” Crowley said, even though he hadn't needed to. He felt like a moron for saying it. “Obviously. Of course it's me, your screen probably told you that. Yeah. I'm just writing some notes and getting stuff figured out. You can come over and help if you'd like.”

“Lovely!” How was it Crowley could actually hear the smile in Aziraphale's voice? He tried to pretend like his heart hadn't just skipped a beat. 

“Shall I come fetch you, then?”

“Oh no, I can take the bus. It won't take me too long. See you soon, then.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Crowley answered, pressing the button to end the call without saying bye. 

Crowley glanced around his apartment, trying to figure out if it was in a good enough state for company. Last time he hadn't cared what Aziraphale thought, but now... well, now it was different. He started to try to prepare more notes on the book, but jumped up after only a moment, deciding his current outfit wouldn't do. 

Aziraphale was knocking on the door by the time Crowley managed to finish dressing himself. He'd thought long and hard over what Aziraphale might like, then realized that none of his wardrobe would be to Aziraphale's liking. So he'd settled on a black skirt, red thigh-high boots and a black sweater. With his signature sunglasses on, of course, as well as a gold chain around his neck. At least he felt comfortable _and_ he looked good, if he did say so himself.

Aziraphale glanced him over and hesitated, before finally coming out with it. “I like the boots. You look -” he paused. “My first inclination is to say you look lovely, but perhaps you prefer handsome?”

“Either's fine,” Crowley squeaked out, surprised by the compliment. He gestured for Aziraphale to come in. “Thanks. I think I have the legs for skirts, but sometimes I wonder.”

“No, it looks quite fetching.” 

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was just flattering him for the sake of getting work done, but one look into those blue eyes was enough to convince him that Aziraphale wasn't the type for empty words. If he said something, he meant it. 

“Did you want anything to drink?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the couch as Crowley closed the door behind him. Aziraphale saw the note cards spread across the coffee table and started examining them. “Oh, did you re-read the book, then?”

“Yeah, had to,” Crowley headed to the kitchen to put on the kettle. “Gotta keep the story straight, after all. I was thinking of just having them run into each other some time after they both woke up, but that seemed too...” he lost track of the word he wanted. “You know. Doesn't ...flow?”

“It does seem a bit on the easy side.”

“Right, exactly. But we still have to get them to that point. Whole point of this is they finally meet each other, right?”

“Right,” Aziraphale seemed distracted. He was still sitting on the couch, but now had his elbows on his knees and then his head in his hands. “Love has to start somewhere. Can't just come out of nowhere and...Crowley?”

“Tea will be ready soon, my electric kettle broke a few weeks back and I haven't had time to replace it. The stove top one takes a while, sorry.”

“No, it's not that. I must confess I had another reason for wanting to speak with you today.”

Crowley went back into the living room and plopped himself on the couch beside Aziraphale. “Oh?” He tried to keep his voice casual. “And what might that be?”

“It's hard to say. ...My uncle...” Aziraphale pushed himself up to standing and paced to Crowley's bookshelf. He ran his finger along the spines of all the copies of Pride and Prejudice on the top shelf. “My uncle has odd ideas of the way things should be. He's come around about my being gay, but is still bewildered that I don't have a family. It's ok with him that I settle down with a gentleman, just that I need to have done it already and should probably be looking to adopt by now as well.”

“Sorry, I don't know what's...” Crowley started, but then realized he was interrupting. “Sorry. Just. I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.”

“Right. Well, Uncle Gideon and Gabriel are quite convinced that you and I – and I did nothing to encourage this, though I'm sorry to say I did nothing to dissuade it either – they believe you and I are … together.”

“Together?”

“Yes. Gabriel never believed growing up that straight men and straight women could be friends, so I don't know why I was so surprised that he apparently harbors the belief that two gay men can spend time together without it having some deeper meaning.”

“Ok. Right. No deeper meaning. So just tell him that.”

“I would. I will! Of course I will. It's just...”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It's just that the Christmas issue will be coming out soon and my uncle's mood will likely be tied to how sales go. If the sales aren't what he's hoping for ...I need something else to put me back in his good graces. And for him, seeing me starting on the path towards getting settled down would please him.”

“Your uncle is a very strange man.”

“Yes, he quite is.”

They were both quiet as Crowley ruminated. He wasn't sure what he was being asked to do here. He had an inkling, but he couldn't be certain unless Aziraphale came out with it. Before either could continue, the kettle let out a low whistle. Crowley excused himself to deal with that, preparing the tea the way he remembered Aziraphale taking it last time. 

“Here,” he held out a steaming mug to Aziraphale and set his own on the coffee table without taking so much as a sip. “You're going to have to spell this out for me, Aziraphale. What is it that you need?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sat down next to him on the couch and put his own mug down beside Crowley's. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, and I'm sorry to put you in this position. You are, of course, free to say no. But would you pretend to be my uh ...my ...boyfriend? Just through the Christmas party. And if the issue sells the way I hope it will, maybe we can even end it before that.”

“And this will help keep you in your uncle's good graces?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Unfortunately, it's the easiest way. It's actually some what progressive for him, when you think about it.”

“Mmm.”

“I'm sorry. This is far too much to ask. I mean, you barely know me! And you probably have a boyfriend or significant other ...or perhaps that sort of thing isn't for you? Dating, I mean?” Aziraphale winced. “I'm sorry. I'm crossing so many lines. It's not fair to you.”

“I'll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yeah. I mean, we'll be spending loads of time together working on the story anyway. And then we can end things later, no problem, right?”

“Right!”

“Probably need to hold hands. Maybe kissing?”

“I mean, light pecks, most likely,” Aziraphale still looked apologetic. “I'll try to make it as painless as possible,” He put a hand lightly on Crowley's knee and Crowley pretended like he didn't feel warmth rising there on his knee or in his cheeks. “I really do appreciate it. And if you change your mind you can back out any time, I promise.”

“S Ok. Might not be so bad,” Crowley took a long sip of his tea. “Pretending to be your boyfriend, I mean.” 

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me, Crowley. You're so kind!”

“Am not,” Crowley muttered petulantly. “I'm really not. Besides, we need to work on this story. Then we can work out some back story of our own for how we got together – trust me, people ask about that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale nodded. “You're right on both accounts,” he picked up one of the note cards and examined it. “Ah, when Alex tells Carter he loves him! One of my favorite moments from the whole book. It really was very sweet.”

“Thanks,” Crowley brushed off the compliment and tried to refocus himself to work. Instead, a voice inside his head (that sounded remarkably like Anathema) was whispering at him – that while right now he was just the boyfriend for pretend, maybe it was possible to show Aziraphale that Crowley would be up to the task for real. 

He tried to fight off the thought as they worked, discussing what might make sense for the opening scene. But each time Aziraphale smiled at him, each time their fingers accidentally brushed together and – god help him – even those moments where Aziraphale would go all pouty when he disagreed with something, Crowley felt his heart thudding harder and the whispered voice in his head get louder. 

_This one,_ his brain and heart were both screaming at him. _We want this one!_

“Is something wrong?” Aziraphale cocked his head to the side. “You look – well, it's hard to tell behind the glasses, but you look like something's bothering you.”

“Nothing's bothering me. Just ...thinking about some things.”

“If it's for the story-”

“It's not,” Crowley brushed him off. “I'll tell you about it later.” Sometime. Maybe never, really. Crowley was willing to be honest with himself about his feelings, but the truth was he was still terrified of rejection. “Let's just get back to working on the story. Maybe...” Crowley tapped his fingernails against the coffee table, thinking it over. “Maybe I'll tell you later.”


	7. My Point Is: Deadlines Are Approaching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how many chapters this is. I can't promise a specific schedule for posting, but I'm going to try to keep posting consistently until we at least get to the Christmas party chapter which I have told myself must be up by Christmas day in my time zone.

Aziraphale spent his Sunday cleaning his apartment and then rewarding himself for that productivity with a few chocolates and his collection of Crowley's books. He'd re-read Moonlight Upon Our Face a few times recently, and felt confident he remembered enough to be of assistance should Crowley need it. So that book was returned to its spot on the shelf and he instead read _My Point Is..._ and _Dolphins' Brains Are Too Big For This: Mine Unfortunately Is Not_. They were more humorous books than Moonlight Upon Our Face, but Aziraphale liked Crowley's sense of humor.

Especially now that it was no longer being used to come up with pranks against him. 

He was only a few chapters into _My Point Is..._ when his cell phone buzzed. 

_Email coming soon. Potential chapter. Edits, please. <3 ~Crowley _

Aziraphale dug out his laptop and waited for it to boot up. He really ought to replace the ancient thing, but that took more money than he had these days. He reminded himself to be patient, that it only felt like forever because he was so eager to see what Crowley had come up with. But when the screen finally came up and prompted him to log in, he noted it had taken six minutes. He frowned at the thing, but quickly brushed the frustration off. Nothing he could do about it right now. Perhaps once he'd been at Eden long enough, he could explain the necessity of being assigned a work laptop.

Aziraphale checked his work email account for the writing. It wasn't there. Aziraphale frowned, then remembered he'd given Crowley his personal email address. He didn't see what good it was to send it there, but sure enough when he checked there was the email:

**Moonlight Upon Our Face 2: The moonlightening**

He frowned at the title and clicked it open.

_The title is a joke. I'm not going to call it that. I bet you're making that face of yours, aren't you? The irritated one where your lips pucker up and you scrunch up your nose._

_Just click the download link. We'll work on the real title later._

_~Crowley_

Aziraphale sighed and clicked the button to download the attachment before retrieving his book. His machine could take anywhere from ten minutes to two hours to download files, depending on its current temperament. He gave the screen an affectionate stroke, hoping to hurry it along, then went back to his book.

Or at least, he tried to. 

Instead, the knowledge of who wrote the book was hitting him more potently than it should have. He put the book down and studied it. The name Anthony J. Crowley was embossed on the cover just under the title. He flipped to the back of the jacket where many books had author's picture – he knew Crowley's photo wouldn't be there, but he looked anyway. No, just a little 'about the author' blurb:

_Crowley lives in a flat with his plants, and would thank the publishing industry to stop asking so many damn questions._

Aziraphale smiled at it. He'd read it before, but now it was just so ….Crowley. He wiggled himself deeper into his couch, contemplating. It had been a long time since he'd managed to make a friend, and he quite liked Crowley. Yesterday had been the most fun he'd had in a long while. Not since Nicolas...

Oh no. That wouldn't do. 

Thinking of Crowley in the same terms as his ex-boyfriend was silly. They were just friends. Of course he liked spending time with his friends! Who wouldn't? 

Aziraphale was snapped from his thoughts by the grinding noise his laptop made, alerting him that the download was done (and reminding him that the poor thing was on its last legs and probably would not be much longer for this world).

He opened the file and started reading eagerly.

_It had only been a few weeks since Carter had woken up. Most of his first week had been spent calling family and friends and assuring them that he was okay now, and yes, he'd love to catch up with them sometime if they wanted._

_Now that the focus on him was dying down, he wanted to get to searching for Alex. Some part of him knew it hadn't been a dream. It couldn't have been. It was far too real. He wanted to listen to that part of himself._

_But what to do?_

_He couldn't just show up at Alex's apartment. He was pretty sure he remembered where it was, but if it turned out it belonged to someone else they might call the police on him. And if it did belong to Alex, well... he might call the cops, since he couldn't have any memories of Carter._

_So Carter spent his weekends in his bedroom, writing down everything he could remember from his dreams. He tried to focus on the facts, but sentimentality kept slipping in. The note on where Alex lived noted that Alex kept things on the dirtier side, but always picked up when Carter came over. One note mentioned Alex's deep love of chocolate covered pretzels and still another lamented the fact that Alex always wanted to go out to eat and didn't seem to know how to cook._

_Most of the notes were useless._

_But within the pile, there were a few important tidbits – where he lived, of course, but also where he worked, his favorite book, his favorite animal. Carter frowned at the last one. Knowing Alex's favorites made him feel like a stalker. How else would he know these things, after all?_

_He had a choice to make, assuming Alex was real: he could either try to find him and just pretend not to know anything, or he was going to have to be honest and tell Alex about the coma dream._

It ended there, and Aziraphale frowned, then sent a text off to Crowley. _Is that all?_

_Hey, it's a start! Several more words than I had last week, isn't it? Plus I need your help deciding which way Alex goes. I wasn't sure what would be right._

Aziraphale frowned at his phone, then became self-conscious when he realized his lips really were puckering and his nose was scrunched up, just the expression Crowley's email had been teasing him about. He shook himself as though it would shake the frustration away. _Did you want me to come over to discuss? Or try after work tomorrow?_

_Not after work tomorrow, got another engagement. Maybe Tuesday? Probably have more for you by then, anyway._

Aziraphale tried not to feel hurt. Crowley didn't owe him all of his time, and he was obviously making progress, even if it wasn't quite where they needed it yet. But he wondered very much at what this prior engagement could be. He wished he had more friends, even if it was just for someone to complain to. Being around Crowley all the time had made him realize how lonely he was feeling. 

He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes, debating. Before he could make any decisions, his phone rang. He jumped since he wasn't expecting it, then almost jumped again when he saw Gabriel's name on the display.

He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile, even though Gabriel obviously couldn't see him. “Hello, Gabriel.”

“Aziraphale! How are you?”

“Oh, I'm all right, I suppose. Can I do anything for you?”

“As a matter of fact, I wanted someone to come with me to the mall tomorrow afternoon.” Ah. Aziraphale knew the drill there. Gabriel liked suits and he often bought a few at once – they got heavy. Aziraphale had always been stronger than his cousin. Physically, anyway, so his presence was sometimes requested just to carry things around. It was never any fun, but Aziraphale had always had a hard time saying no.

“Oh. All right. Some time after work, I assume?”

“Well of course! We don't take off days just for shopping!”

Aziraphale could somehow hear Gabriel wagging his finger at him, even over the phone. “No, of course we don't.”

“Besides, your wardrobe could use some touching up. Looks a bit old fashioned, don't you think?”

“I can't afford those sorts of shops,” Aziraphale admitted. Gabriel liked things like Armani – Aziraphale couldn't even dream of being able to spend that much money on clothing. 

“Christmas present.”

“What?”

“Look,” Gabriel sighed, “You're working on getting things settled. You're in a job that could become a career, you've got to look the part. I'll foot the bill this time as a Christmas present.”

“That is a very generous offer,” Aziraphale admitted, carefully not agreeing to the situation. He couldn't spot the strings yet, and he was wary of what agreeing to this meant he'd be asked to take on sometime later. 

“It is, isn't it?” Gabriel was clearly in a good mood. “So, let me be honest – this is also a bit of a reward for you.” Aziraphale didn't point out it wasn't the kind of reward he'd want, just let Gabriel continue. “You were right. There's already tons of buzz about this sequel – we've had people on our Facebook account asking if they can pre-order the issue and we've already had a large increase in subscribers. The ad layouts have also helped. Dad's pretty happy.”

“So we should be alright, then? My job is secured?”

Gabriel tsked at him. “Not over until it's over, is it? See, at least one person's going to leak the story to people who haven't bought the issue. Always happens. And if it's not good enough, the others will cancel. Some people will anyway, of course, once they find the free copy on that tumblr site or on Facebook or something. But if it's good enough, some people will want to own their own copies, even if they can get it somewhere else. So no, we won't know for sure until … probably around the Christmas party.”

“And we go to print in a week,” Aziraphale said flatly, rubbing at his eyes. He was starting to get a headache. "Then it's almost another week from print until the party." Print would start the Monday after next - the party would be the Saturday after printing.

“Exactly. But you won't let us down, will you, tiger?” Gabriel didn't wait for an answer. “See you in the office bright and early tomorrow, then we can ride to the mall together.”

“Certainly. Thank you. See you tomorrow, then.” Aziraphale pressed the end call button and set the phone on the table. Ok. So, one week to get the story in. Crowley had a start – it was something at least. He loaded the story back up and started typing notes back to Crowley. Almost as soon as he pressed send, his phone rang again.

“Gabriel, please, I'll see you tomorrow – I really should be heading off to bed.”

“You could at least look to see who's calling before you answer,” Crowley's voice came over the other end. “Gabriel, really? Never been more insulted in all my life. Gabriel!”

“Sorry, Crowley. I just got off the phone with him. Did you need something?”

“Just going over your notes – I sent you less than three hundred and fifty words. How do you have this much to ask already?”

“You said you wanted my thoughts on where to go with it, so I'm telling you. And also noting that when the doctor woke with Carter she said he 'woke up in time for Christmas' – we discussed the big romance scene being around Christmas, so if he's been awake for a few weeks how has he not missed Christmas yet?”

“Everyone's definition of 'missed' can be different. If he wakes up four weeks before Christmas then he didn't miss it, did he?”

“Fine. I suppose we can let that one go. As I said in my email, I personally believe he should admit the truth immediately.”

“Ah, but where's the drama in that? I told you what happens with Alex. That ties everything up so ...boringly.”

“I suppose, but isn't it all right for a love story not to have any drama with it? Why do lovers always have to overcome some huge obstacle?”

“I dunno. It's what the people want,” Crowley was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Ok. We'll play it your way and he'll come clean, but if I can't get it to work that way I reserve the right to delete and try again.”

“We only have a week!”

“I know that,” Crowley's voice was serious now. “I'm not going to let you down. We're going to get it done, I promise. I have that thing to do tomorrow, but that's it. For the rest of the week I'm yours. Ok?”

“Ok,” Aziraphale agreed. He felt a blush creep up at the word 'yours' but fought it down. Although the smile growing on his face refused to allow itself to be repressed. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”


	8. It Suits You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Anathema chapter? Time for Anathema chapter. Also, I am delighted by the comments saying shopping with Gabriel would basically be the worst. You're all correct.

Anathema had never seen this sort of thing before. Usually Eden's offices were bustling and loud, especially in her cubicle and across the way in Crowley's. Instead, he was hunkered over his keyboard, fingers flying so quickly off the keys that she momentarily wondered if it were possible for his fingers to catch fire that way.

It wasn't quite as odd that Aziraphale was quiet, but even he seemed to be quieter than usual today. He frowned at most of his work, hunting and pecking for the keys he needed. She made a mental note to offer to teach him how to touch type at some point. 

But their focus seemed to have a transformative effect on the rest of the office. No one was talking today, everyone desperate to get their work done and in before the deadline. Her own projects had already been turned in and she wasn't the sort to find this lack of chaos inspirational. She much preferred trying to write while simultaneously dodging the pens Crowley would throw at her in between trading verbal barbs. 

It was lunch time before Crowley finally stopped typing, massaging his fingers. “Not gonna write for a year after this, I swear,” he noticed Anathema staring at him. In response, he pulled out his phone and texted her. 

_Still on for today?_

She smirked and typed back _Of course, but you could have just said something instead of texting it. My car or yours?_

_Yours. No way I'm parking the Bentley at the mall. Gross._

“Oh, but it's okay for my Prius?” She answered aloud, throwing a pen in his direction. Aziraphale was now well practiced at dodging and ducked down right before it would have connected with him. It would have poked Crowley in the eye were it not for his sunglasses. It bounced off the glasses and landed on the floor. He left it there.

“So glad you see it my way,” He said, smiling at her. She knew that smile. He was up to something. Whatever the trip to the mall was – and she'd narrowed it down to a peace offering or a trap – this wasn't just about going out and having fun. 

“Aziraphale, did you want to-” She started. 

Crowley cut her off. “No, he doesn't. This is an us day, my dear Anathema.”

Aziraphale looked up and gave a shrug, but he looked sad to her. 

“Don't pout, Aziraphale,” Crowley insisted, “Trust me, you would be bored out of your skull if you went with us – not that Anathema is boring, of course. Just wouldn't be your scene.”

“And out of curiosity,” Aziraphale's eyes were on his keyboard as he spoke, “What precisely would be my 'scene'?”

“Library,” Anathema answered at the same moment Crowley said “Book shop.”

His expression shifted to delight. “Well. I can't argue with either one of you there. Anathema, do you mind if I wait to edit your latest? I'm sure it's lovely, but we already have two pieces from you for the Christmas issue and that really does need to be my focus right now. I'm sure we can fit this in on the next issue.”

Anathema waved lazily. “Doesn't matter to me. I probably need to get started on my article about love spells before we start really gearing up for the Valentine's day issue.”

“Are those a thing?” She was surprised how interested he looked. “I mean, I would worry about consent, of course-”

“Don't worry. Anything I offer is meant to be done in a kind spirit and would only work on the fully consenting.”

“Ah. Well, that's very good to know.” Aziraphale returned to his work. Crowley continued to work, pausing every once in a while to delete whatever he'd just written. He always cursed up a storm when he was hitting the backspace key. Anathema sighed and got up to stretch her legs, realizing the lunch hour had managed to sneak up on her. Crowley usually hustled her out the door the minute it was okay to go. She watched Crowley and Aziraphale again for a few minutes, then made up her mind.

She ran out for a bit, returning twenty minutes later with sandwiches. “I have a vegetarian, a meatball sub, and some sort of chicken thing I can't remember the name of. And chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Who wants what?” She asked but didn't wait for an answer. She stuck the vegetarian on her desk, gave the chicken to Aziraphale and the meatball to Crowley. 

Crowley frowned at her. “How am I supposed to eat this without making a mess?”

“Very carefully.”

“This was very kind of you, Anathema,” Aziraphale unwrapped his sandwich. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “You guys are working hard, thought I'd make things a little easier for you. Plus I don't think either of you would have eaten if I hadn't.”

“I'm making progress,” Crowley insisted, taking a large bite of his sandwich. A meatball rolled out onto his lap, splattering his pants with sauce. He let out a stream of expletives. Aziraphale picked up a napkin, went to Crowley and started dabbing at his pants. 

“Oh dear, I don't think this is going to come out...the stain might set.”

“Yeah, probably,” Crowley grumbled. “'S my own fault, really. Should have put a napkin down first. Thanks.”

Anathema blinked several times as the picture started to come together for her. She let out a soft 'oh' of surprise, but neither man reacted to it. Aziraphale was still on his knees dabbing at Crowley's pants. Crowley put a hand on top of his. “It's okay. Really. But thanks again for trying.”

And now she had to hold back a laugh. Crowley always did wear his emotions right up front for the world to see, even if he seemed to believe he projected an air of cool. But the bright red blush on his face was the opposite of cool or collected. He quickly jerked his hand away from Aziraphale. If Aziraphale was bothered by this, he didn't show it. He just headed back to his seat and got back to work. 

Well. This was an interesting development.

* * *

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed her out of the office building and to her car. “Why do you park so far away?”

“I didn't get an assigned parking spot,” she said pointedly. “And don't complain or we'll take your car to the mall. Since it's such a shorter walk to get there.”

“Fine,” he mumbled. 

“You want to tell me what this is about?”

“Nothing. Wanted to spend time with a friend. That's all.”

“Uh-huh. You, Anthony J Crowley, want to spend the day at the mall. During Christmas shopping season. Somehow I find that hard to believe. What are you up to?”

He broke into a run and made it to her car first. Damn his long legs. Anathema hustled to catch up to him. The car key chirped to let them know it was unlocked and they both climbed in. “You know, getting away from me just to then crawl into a small shared space is maybe not the best idea you've ever had.”

“Okay. Look. We always go do our shopping for the company Christmas party the day before.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, not catching on.

“Well, - I have a date this year. Like, a real date. Sort of. Not really,” He set his seat to recline so he could lay back and folded his arms across his chest. “It's pretty hard to explain. Point being we can't go together. So I thought I'd try to make it up to you by doing the shopping early.”

“I ask you every year not to make us wait until the last minute and the one year you listen to me is the year we aren't even going together?”

“Ngk. Yeah. ...Sorry?”

Anathema sighed and threw her car into reverse, backing up out of the spot and tearing away at a speed that Crowley had to approve of. She wasn't sure she'd ever made such good time at the mall. Of course then they spent another thirty minutes trying to find a parking spot. 

Once they climbed out of the car she started in on the questions:

Who's the date?

What do you mean it both is and isn't for real?

When did this happen?

Seriously, who is it?

Her first thought after today's display was Aziraphale, of course, but that seemed unlikely. They'd just met and Aziraphale struck her as the kind to be very cautious when entering a new relationship. Most likely not the kind to date someone he worked with.

Crowley didn't answer any of her questions, just led her to the fancier clothing store at the end of the mall. “You know you're going to have to answer me, right?” she pressed again. 

He ignored her and examined a red lacy dress. “Would this one be more my style or yours, d'you think? Probably a bit short for your tastes.”

“You know, if you're taking your friend out to spend time with them you need to actually _talk_ to them.”

“I know, it's just that ...” he heaved such an enormous sigh she wondered where all the air had come from. But then, Crowley had always been full of hot air. “So it's ...Aziraphale?!”

Aziraphale and Gabriel had just turned a corner, Aziraphale nearly running Crowley over in the process. Aziraphale was dressed in a new suit, one that didn't really look like him. Rather, it looked like Gabriel had been using him as a dress up doll. The suit would have looked like it belonged to James Bond if it were still on a display. On Aziraphale, well... it looked like it was the start of a midlife crisis. 

“Anathema! Crowley!” Gabriel greeted them cheerfully. “We're just on our way to the women's section – need to show Aziraphale how he looks in his new suit. Someone broke the men's mirror earlier today,” Gabriel glanced back and forth between Crowley and Aziraphale. “Though I think he was hoping to keep the suit a surprise for you.”

Anathema elbowed Crowley in the ribs, much harder than she had intended to. ''What. The. Hell?!” she mouthed at him.

Crowley shrugged at her, turning his attention to Gabriel. “I'm sure it would have been a nice surprise, but I'm not sure that it suits you..uh..” he glanced over Aziraphale's shoulder. Anathema glanced the same direction, trying to figure out what he was looking at. All that was over there was a Christmas tree decorated in red and green baubles and with an angel topper. “Angel,” he settled on. “Something else might suit you more, Angel.” He repeated, this time more confidently.

 _Did he seriously just get the nickname from the Christmas tree?_ Anathema was rolling her eyes so hard she was worried she might get dizzy soon. And she had so many questions, none of which could be asked in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel frowned. “Well, I think he looks nice but I suppose your lot knows more about fashion, huh? I always liked those guys on the TV show that did the make overs?”

“So maybe Crowley can help you pick out a suit,” Anathema offered before Gabriel could go further with the stereotypes. 

“Would you?” Aziraphale looked hopeful. “I know very little about this sort of thing, really.”

“Yeah, I can help. Come with me,” Crowley jerked his head back in the direction of the men's department. Aziraphale followed after him. It was hard to miss the look of relief on his face. 

“So, doing some gal pal shopping?”

Anathema had almost forgotten about Gabriel. Too bad the man wouldn't shut up long enough to allow him to be forgotten completely.

“We are ...doing shopping, yes,” Crowley had given her a crash course on glad handling Gabriel her second week at Eden. She was almost as good at it as he was. 

“They make a cute couple,” Gabriel nodded off in their direction. “Surprised me a bit, but hey, love comes in all shapes, right? And it seems like it's good for business.” His smile dissolved for a moment. “You don't think if they break up it'll be bad for us, do you?”

“I ... I would not know that,” She shrugged, casting about to see if the pair was coming back soon. No such luck. She couldn't see them from here and she wasn't sure how to politely disentangle herself. She didn't want to be talking to Gabriel and she desperately wanted to know what was going on between Crowley and Aziraphale. 

“Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, right?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I've got a few more suits to pick out for myself, so I better get back to it. See you in the office tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow,” she agreed, even though she was now following him in an attempt to find the other two. When she found them Crowley had a vest in each hand and seemed to be unable to decide between them. One was a sapphire blue and one was a lighter robin's egg. “Oh for goodness sake, the sapphire, obviously!”

“Thank you, Anathema!” Crowley shoved the sapphire one back and pushed the robin's egg one into Aziraphale's arms. He already had a few other pieces of clothes there.

“Why do I even bother?” Anathema threw up her hands in frustration. “I think the sapphire looked nicer.”

“But would be too bright on Aziraphale,” Crowley insisted. “Aziraphale, what do you think?”

“I actually like the robin's egg one better. Sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” Anathema said gently. “Do you have enough stuff to try on?”

“I suppose I do,” Aziraphale said, looking it all over. “But ...and this is so silly, but I think Gabriel may be right? I'd kind of like it to be a surprise at the party.”

“As you wish, Angel.”

“Are you going to keep calling me that?” Aziraphale was trying to look indignant, but a smile kept cracking through. “Anyway, I should go make sure this all fits and then catch up with Gabriel. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow?”

Anathema almost pointed out that they all worked together and tomorrow was a work day so yeah, of course they'd see him tomorrow. But she realized now the question hadn't been intended for both of them. It was only focused on Crowley. 

“Yeah, alright. See you tomorrow. Anathema and I have shopping of our own to do.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale headed off to the dressing rooms. 

“All right. What's that about?” She demanded.

“Not here. Let's finish shopping. Then we'll run back to work for my car and you can come around to mine and I'll explain everything.”

“Fine. But dinner's on you this time.”

“Fine.”

* * *

“So,” Anathema said after swallowing down another bite of take out curry. “You're pretending to date him because ...Gideon?”

“Apparently he's very big on following traditional paths. He's branched out to include LGBTQ, but uh ...still apparently thinks Aziraphale should be getting married soon and adopting babies. It's fine with him if Aziraphale marries a man, just so long as he seems like he's on the road to domestic tranquility. It's just to keep Gideon happy until the Christmas issue sells.”

“Poor Aziraphale. That whole family is nuts.”

Crowley nodded and took a bite of his own curry, chewing it slowly. Anathema hated to interrupt him when he was so lost in thought, but she had more questions now. 

“Does he know you're in love with him?”

Crowley choked down his food and thumped his chest with a closed fist before grabbing his beer and taking a deep swig. “I”m not in love with anyone.”

“Uh-huh. So the way you were staring at him at the office or at the store today were just...what?”

Crowley tossed his sunglasses onto his coffee table and rested his head in his hands. “It's too soon to be in love with him.”

“Okay.”

“But...”

“Yes?”

“But I think I may be anyway,” he groaned. “I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm doing. And am I being fair to him, fake dating him when I want something real? Is that messed up?” he ran a hand through his hair. 

“You're doing him a favor. And it's not like he has to sleep with you to continue the charade for his family. But I think you should tell him,” she reached over and stole a bite of his curry – he had ordered lamb and she had chicken. 

“Ah, yes 'so we've tricked your uncle and your wanker of a cousin – how about we go out for real now'? It's that easy, is it?”

“You keep telling me it's that easy whenever we talk about Newt.”

“Oh, so I'm just supposed to pine for the next few years without doing anything about it?”

“Okay. Fair point. I will ask Newt to the Christmas party. I don't have a date anymore, anyway, do I?” he nodded. “So I tell Newt and you tell Aziraphale. I know you think it's happening too fast, but ...didn't you see how he was looking at you?”

“Like I was a person with better fashion sense than him? Yes. And like I'm the person who's helping him. I don't want him to feel like he owes me.”

“That's a good point, but I don't think he will. Tell him.”

“Ugh. I don't have time for romance, ironically, because I need to be working on my stupid f'-ing romance story. Speaking of -”

“Say no more. I'll head out. Don't stay up too late.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure mum. Give dad my love when you call to ask him to the party.”

“I'm sure Newt will be happy to give you away on your wedding day,” Anathema stuck out her tongue, but jumped to her feet to head out. “I'll see you tomorrow. Seriously. Get some sleep. And tell him how you feel.”

“Now why does that advice sound so familiar?”

“Shut up,” Anathema answered as she headed out the door. “Text you when I get home so you know I'm safe.”

“Thank you,” he called after her. He didn't move from his spot on the couch for the next several minutes. He was too busy wondering if Anathema was on to something or not.


	9. A Brief Discussion of Fanfiction

“You really waited this long to get your groceries?” Aziraphale complained again, shifting the bag from his left side to his right as he shuffled along after Crowley. He really thought the bag boy had done a poor job arranging everything, but he felt rude speaking up and saying anything, especially to a teenager who already had looked scared out of his mind. The bag _was_ overloaded, though, and he was having to take extra care for the contents not to come spilling out the bottom.

“Not for me,” Crowley finally admitted, stopping in front of Madame Tracy's door and knocking three times. 

“Just a minute,” Came the sing-song reply. 

“Now yeh wait just a minute there, I paid fer this time and I-”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, wondering if he was imagining things. But as Madame Tracy's door swung open he caught sight of his landlord, Mr. Shadwell, trying to duck behind a counter so he couldn't be seen. 

“I'm naught here fer the harlot's services!” He shouted. “In fact, I was ne'er here, do you understand me?”

Crowley pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “Seems to me you were. But then..”

“But then? Out with it, ye devil of a-”

Crowley tsked at him. “Patience is a virtue. I hate that saying, by the way, but it is. It seems to me I can delete this in exchange for a month of rent of Aziraphale's apartment.”

“The Southern pansy?!” Shadwell finally got to his feet and his face turned a brilliant shade of red when he saw his tenant. “I did not know what sorts of evil went on here, I swear!”

“Hardly my business,” Aziraphale shrugged, coming in just to put the groceries down. “I believe these are for you, Madame.”

“Thank you, love. Very sweet of you.” If she was at all bothered by the other men shouting at each other, she kept her composure quite admirably. 

“And Crowley,” Aziraphale chastised, “That would be blackmail. I simply cannot go along with this-”

“You're not the one doing it, Angel. I am.”

Aziraphale paused at the nickname. None of his relatives were around to hear it, so why was Crowley continuing to call him that? He liked the sound of it, actually. But he couldn't tell Crowley that. 

“Fine, fine. Next month's rent is canceled for him,” Shadwell agreed. “Just delete that picture. And I was never here! Never meant to be here, Jezebel!” he stormed his way out the still open door, but paused in the hallway. “I'll be back next week.”

“Ta, Mr. Shadwell!” Madame Tracy gave him a wave and he went back to mumbling as he left. 

“Please tell me you don't let him pay just to insult you,” Crowley crossed his arms. “There's easier ways to make money than to let mean old bastards call you names.”

“No, love. He comes and just talks to me. He gets embarrassed when people see him. I think he's just a very lonely man.”

“Some people are lonely because they're hard to be around,” Crowley said, but he didn't push it further.

“I still can't believe you blackmailed him! Crowley, that was wrong! I need to pay him-”

“I've seen the look of your place. He should be giving all of his occupants hazard pay, the way he keeps that building. Madame Tracy, have a lovely evening. My partner and I have some work to get back to.”

“Of course, dear. Have a lovely evening. And I must say, I have a good feeling about this one,” She grabbed Crowley's hands and gave them a squeeze. “I think you finally found the right man for you!” 

Aziraphale was surprised that Crowley didn't deny it – what were the odds Madame Tracy would know anyone at Eden, after all? But he supposed discretion was wise. He followed Crowley out of the apartment, closing the door behind him, then into Crowley's apartment. 

“Want me to order delivery?” Crowley offered, pulling out his phone. “I think that new Thai place sounds good.”

“Sure,” Aziraphale tried to hide his excitement. The place was a bit too pricey to go to, but he'd wanted to try it since he'd first heard of it. “Just a noodle dish for me, please. Pick whatever you like. Not too spicy, though.”

Crowley nodded and started dialing while Aziraphale set up their working space. It was Friday now. Tuesday through Thursday had settled them in a nice pattern – they came to Crowley's place, Crowley ordered them some dinner, they got to work with Crowley sending Aziraphale a few paragraphs at a time. Aziraphale would give his feedback and then they'd edit together. The latest part had been sent to Aziraphale while he was at work. He checked the extra laptop Crowley was letting him borrow (much faster than his own), opened his email and eagerly started reading.

_Alex's jaw was hanging open in a way he was certain was very unattractive. But he couldn't help it. He'd woken up from his coma just a few weeks ago and had immediately written Carter off as a dream. But that dream was standing right before him now, giving him a coffee order. And the name for the cup was Carter._

_It couldn't be a coincidence._

_“Um, have you been here before?” Alex suggested. Perhaps he'd merely been dreaming of a customer he met before the accident. Carter shrugged._

_“Yes and no. Could I have an extra-”_

_“Shot of caramel but no whipped cream,” Alex finished automatically. He clamped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. That was what dream Carter had liked. Obviously the real one-_

_“Exactly!” The excitement on Carter's face didn't seem to match the enthusiasm one would normally have for a barista knowing your order. “Alex?”_

_Alex felt his heart thump harder in his chest. Carter knew his name! But then reality crashed into him as he remembered he was wearing a name tag...except..._

_Except he looked down and realized he'd grabbed Steve's apron by accident. With Steve's name tag. No wonder the thing had felt too big. He made a mental note to find Steve and swap back. But there were more pressing matters right now._

_“I have to work for another hour,” Alex offered, hoping Carter would pick up on the suggestion. He wasn't the type to take charge. But if Carter was the same Carter he'd dreamed about, then he was willing to take the plunge first. If not? Well. Maybe he could be the brave one this time._

_“Have you had dinner yet?” Alex shook his head no. “I could take you out to a little bistro. Just some sandwiches. Pick you up here in an hour?”_

_Alex nodded so hard he thought his head might fall off. “Yes! Yes, that would be great! Lovely! Ideal! Supber----_

_Ok, stop it_

Aziraphale blinked as the text seemed to be interrupted. He kept reading, though, wondering what was going on.

_Alex is Alex. These are different characters. You're letting some of Aziraphale's wording slip in and it doesn't work – these guys are supposed to be in their twenties! Aziraphale talks like he's from the 1800s_

Aziraphale felt his face grow hot. Was all of this going to be insulting? He glanced up and realized Crowley was still on the phone. 

_At this rate he's going to figure out you're in love with him. Keep it together and stop writing Alex like he's Aziraphale. They're different. You're not Carter, he's not Alex._

Aziraphale reread those last few sentences. Then reread them again, moving his mouth along with the words as he did so. Somehow they weren't sinking in the way he thought they should. Surely he was misunderstanding something. 

“Everything ok?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale jumped. 

“Yes, everything's fine,” Aziraphale pressed the backspace button until the notes from Crowley to himself were deleted. Surely he hadn't meant Aziraphale to see them? And if he had...maybe they were a joke? 

Aziraphale watched Crowley, but he'd finally gotten through to someone at the restaurant. He noticed Aziraphale staring and gave him a smile before returning his attention to placing the order. Aziraphale felt his heart thud at that smile. 

_Maybe he really is in love with me?_ Aziraphale was surprised how hopeful that made him feel. _Oh. Oh dear. ...Perhaps I'm in love with him, then?_ he let out a slow breath. He wasn't the sort to move quickly and this was all happening too fast. _Later. He and I will talk about it later. Get through writing this, get through the Christmas party and ...and then we'll see what comes of it._

Crowley hung up the phone and took his usual seat on the sofa. “Got our orders, Angel. Should be forty-five minutes or so. Did you read the last part?”

“Yes. No notes this time,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “I was relieved to find Alex does recognize Carter. I've read so many fanfictions where he doesn't-”

Crowley was smirking at him. “You read fanfiction? Ones based on my works?”

“Well, to be fair where you left off did leave a little bit more that could be done with the story. I wanted to see what others were doing with it. A lot of people wanted to fix it but ...still wrote depressing stories themselves, which I thought was fascinating. A lot of people assumed that Alex and Carter were put into comas in the same accident, and that one of them was at fault for it.”

Crowley grimaced. “Not my style.”

“No, I didn't think so. But a lot of those writers still had very good ideas.” Aziraphale shrugged. “I've also been making sure you weren't trending too close to their ideas, so no one could think you stole the ideas from them.”

“Stole the?! They're my bloody characters!”

“That still wouldn't entitle you to fans' ideas.”

“I'm not saying it would,” Crowley threw up his hands in frustration. “I gotta get more writing done. You have stuff to work on?”

“Oh, yes. Beelzebub seems to think they can add extra 'z's wherever they please in their text. I'm not certain if they do it to bother me or if they really think it's spelled 'w-h-e-r-e-a-z-z-z'.”

“That's Beelzebub for you,” Crowley said shifting into work mode. Aziraphale watched him closely. Crowley got very quiet during these moments, the only sound in the room the keyboard clacking as he practically went at warp speed.

Aziraphale continued his own work, stealing glances at Crowley every once in a while. Probably about half of those times, he could swear Crowley was looking back at him, but the sunglasses made it impossible to know for sure. 

_Too fast, too fast, too fast_ Aziraphale's brain chided. His heart thumped harder in response, seemingly ignoring the wisdom. _We get through the party first. Once everything's landed, then we'll see where this goes. Perhaps I just feel grateful to him and the feelings are getting all mixed up._

Well, that was a lie. But it was a comforting one, so Aziraphale repeated it to himself throughout the night – like when Crowley brushed an errant noodle off of Aziraphale's lips. Or when he did that laugh he sometimes did where he threw his head back. 

Aziraphale wrapped that lie around himself like a blanket and clung to it. He wasn't ready for the truth. Not yet.


	10. It Must Have Been The Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the Christmas party chapter up by Christmas day, but intended one more chapter before that. And Christmas snuck up on me, so you get an extra long (for me) chapter. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, have a wonderful time for those who don't and a special note to those of you who are around family who maybe aren't accepting or welcoming and are using fanfiction as a means to escape - this one is especially for you.
> 
> For ambiance, actually playing It Must Have Been the Mistletoe by Barbra Mandrell is an excellent idea. It is my favorite Christmas song (Aziraphale may borrow it, but is expected to return it by the end of the AU)
> 
> Maybe one or two more chapters after this. I haven't decided yet.

Crowley tensed up when he noticed the old man walking in – Gideon hadn't been to Eden's offices in at least a year now, but it was hard to forget what the old man looked like. To Crowley, the man looked exactly like the sort someone would cast as Ebeneezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, only without the hope for redemption at the end. Even when he smiled something looked wrong about it. He had the same beautiful violet eyes as his son but they looked even harder than Gabriel's. The mouth was always smiling, but the eyes were always looking to find fault.

He hobbled along, wrenching his hand from his son apparently in an effort not to show any weakness.

“It's Monday,” He announced to the room at large, pausing. Crowley wasn't sure if the man expected a response or if they were supposed to applaud or what. Whatever response the old man was expecting, he seemed irked he hadn't gotten it. “It's Monday,” He repeated again, “And all of our Christmas stories, articles and even quizzes have officially gone to print. We've already set a record this year – sales for this issue are more than double any previous year, just accounting for new subscriptions!”

That got the response he wanted. A few people whooped. Crowley noted that Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. 

“As appreciation for all of your hard work,” Gideon drew himself up to his full height and ran a hand through his silver hair. “As a token of appreciation, you all get the rest of today off -”

“Starting at four pm,” Gabriel interrupted. Crowley smirked. The rest of the day being only an hour off sounded about right from his time working at Eden. To his surprise, though, Gideon shook his head. 

“No. It's almost Christmas and we have something worth celebrating. I want you all rested up because now that I know what you're all capable of, I'm expecting great things out of all of you for next year as well. We know the Christmas issue is always our biggest seller so I can't expect you to match that level every time. But this shows we could always have been doing better.”

 _Leave it to Gideon to take something positive and turn around and use it to make vague threats,_ Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“So with that in mind,” Gideon continued, “You're all free to go, with full pay. Be back tomorrow and ready to work on January's issue, with a special eye for anything we can do to push our Valentine's issue over the top.” 

Crowley started gathering his things together but was cut off by Gideon and Gabriel clearing their throats at him. Crowley jumped – he wasn't usually easy to startle, but he hadn't expected to be ambushed. 

“Crowley! Aziraphale!” Aziraphale hadn't started packing up. He seemed less surprised by his uncle and cousin stopping them. 

“Hello, Uncle Gideon. You're looking well,” Aziraphale got to his feet and gave Gideon a quick pat on the shoulder, a gesture which his uncle returned. 

“Thank you, thank you. So... I've met Crowley before, but I was surprised to hear he's your new paramour! You must tell me how that one came about – your last boyfriend was so...” Gideon made a face. “Serious. Always thought that was more your type.”

“Nicolas and I broke things off years ago,” Aziraphale said pointedly. It wasn't rude, but it was said more sharply than Crowley expected from Aziraphale. “If you recall, I was the one that ended things. So, obviously, he was not exactly my type. Just because someone else enjoys books doesn't make them a perfect match for me.”

“Yes, yes, sorry,” Gideon threw up his hands. “He was a friend of a friend of a friend,” Gideon explained. “Hoped it would work out, but unfortunately can't win them all. Anyway, I should stop prying into your love life-” Crowley thumped himself on the chest to turn the laugh that was threatening to bubble over into a cough. 

“Sorry,” He apologized, “Just need a drink,” He took a swig of tea to prove it. 

“It seems I owe both of you,” Gideon continued as though he'd never been interrupted. “That idea to run the sequel was an excellent one, Aziraphale. And we leaked bits and pieces of the story to some influential critics – I believe one said,” And now his attention was back on Crowley “that you're 'back to top form with this, a satisfying conclusion to the only story that Anthony J Crowley ever let me down on previously'.”

“That is an ...interesting review,” Crowley offered, trying not to simmer. He'd achieved his goal, it wasn't worth it to get upset with Gideon right now. “I trust this means Aziraphale will be getting that raise, then?”

Gideon laughed, a loud, wet sound. Crowley resisted the urge to cringe. “I suppose I have to, don't I? After this you two could take off for any other magazine that hasn't gone out of business and then where would I be? But we'll discuss it after the party on Saturday.”

“Why? Everyone else has gone home for the day, what harm would it do to discuss it now?” Crowley pushed. 

“It's fine,” Aziraphale insisted. “The Monday after the party will be fine.” To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale set his chin high and looked his uncle in the eye before saying “And by then we'll have a better idea of the sales for this issue, so we can negotiate a fair deal.”

Gideon let out that laugh again. “Very shrewd, nephew. We'll see then. Gabriel, we need to go over some things in my office. Then you can go home as well.”

“Of course, dad.” Gabriel, for once, had been quiet which had made Crowley forget he was even there. He jumped again, wondering if this whole family was aiming to kill him through different means (two from sheer surprise and one because damn it, seeing Aziraphale stand up to his uncle had made Crowley's already racing heart beat even faster)

Crowley watched as they headed off, then turned his attention back to Aziraphale. “Did you want a ride home? I don't think the bus is coming for the next hour and a half.”

Aziraphale had been acting a little jumpy since Friday, but Crowley couldn't figure out the reason. He'd thought Aziraphale would be relieved that Crowley had sent him the final pieces of the story and they'd been able to finish it together on the telephone last night. But he'd seemed on edge and even now, with the promise of everything he wanted in reach, Aziraphale still seemed to have something on his mind. 

“Did you want to call it off?” Crowley offered, mumbling. He didn't mean to mumble, but he hadn't actually wanted to make the offer. But it was the right thing to do – the raise was in sight, it wouldn't be hard to fake a break up right now. Aziraphale could go to the party stag and Crowley could go with Anathema – he remembered finally that Anathema had sworn she was going to ask Newt this year. Well, fine, Crowley was cool enough to go stag and not let it bother him.

“Call what off?” Aziraphale cocked his head to the side when he asked questions, almost bird-like. It was a stupid thing to find attractive, Crowley figured, and yet here he was with his stupid heart beating faster again. If it didn't slow down soon he'd either end up in a hospital or turn into a hummingbird.

“The date. Seems you'll be getting the raise and no risk of losing your job. I doubt a break up could make them want to get rid of you now. You're too valuable.”

“Only until they realize all I did was pick the best writer here and use work you'd already put in,” Aziraphale's smile was soft, almost sad. “If it's all the same to you well...We already planned to go together. I would very much like to continue that plan. Besides, my uncle can be...”

“A bastard?”

“I was going to say mercurial,” Aziraphale insisted. “I fear a deviation might set him in the wrong mood. I hope I'm not asking too much of you?”

Crowley shook his head so hard his hair was hitting the side of his head with each shake. “No. No, not at all. I don't mind. I'll still take you. But did you want that ride home?”

“I was planning on going to the book shop, actually...Don't give me that look, Crowley,” Aziraphale waggled a finger in a similar manner to the way his cousin often did, only he included a wink to make certain Crowley knew not to take it seriously. “You'll see me this whole week. And I can be hours in those shops. Thanks to you I have a month's reprieve on rent, a most likely secured job and a raise as well. I intend to treat myself to one or two new books – and of course, I'll need to figure out some way to thank you.”

“I don't care for books,” Crowley said automatically. 

“I hadn't intended to buy you a book, I assure you. But really, an author who doesn't like reading!”

“I didn't say I don't like reading, I said I don't like _books_. 'S different, okay? I don't know how to explain it.”

“Be that as it may, dear, I should like to get a wiggle on. I intend to while many hours away in that book shop but the sooner I get there the longer I can take to decide which books I want. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. But ...you never gave me your final feed back for the story.”

“Did I not?” Aziraphale checked his phone. “Gabriel insisted I upgrade to one of these new fangled smart phone things, let me just find my email...ah! ...I saved it as a draft without sending. Here you are,” He pressed a button. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” Crowley's phone beeped and he read the email eagerly. 

_I cannot put into words, though I believe I have an excellent vocabulary, how this story made me feel. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed reading of Carter and Alex, perhaps because I revisit Moonlight Upon Our Face once a year. Be that as it may, The Feel of Sunlight at Last may now have replaced it as my favorite. I would say sorry for putting pressure on you to write it, and I do still feel sorry – and yet I don't, for you wrote something beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me. And thank you for all you've done. I owe you more than I can say._

_~Aziraphale Fell_

* * *

The rest of the office week was filled with the typical Christmas week shenanigans – pot luck lunches, silly bingo games, an ugly sweater competition (Crowley hated all of these, but especially the last one. At least the pot lucks sometimes had good food). And a large amount of people in the office taking these days off to go visit family or just to take a break. It meant extra time for just general screwing around, though, and that Crowley delighted in. It was part of why he never took time off during this part of the year.

“Anathema,” Crowley threw a pen at her, but this one caught Aziraphale. 

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, picking the pen up off the floor. To his surprise, he threw it on at Anathema. It hit her hair and stuck there until she pulled it out, grimacing. “Anathema, it would seem we're back in secondary school and Crowley would like your attention.”

“Did you ask him yet?” 

She turned pink and hunkered down over her computer, ignoring him. 

“Anathema,” Crowley realized his voice sounded whiny, but he didn't like seeing his friend alone. “Anathema ...whatever your middle name is Device! The party is _tomorrow_!”

“Oh, really!” Aziraphale pushed himself up from his chair, looking frustrated. He marched off, then returned a moment later with Newt. “Newt, I thought you were going to ask on Monday! You'd told me you were.”

“I uh...” It was truly astonishing how closely the pink shade on Newt's skin matched the one on Anathema's. 

“She said _she_ was going to ask Monday,” Crowley offered. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded sagely. “Then I must assume she'd have accepted. Anathema, would you be willing to go with Newton to the party tomorrow?” She nodded, but didn't look up. “Newton?”

“Newt, please,” Newt corrected. “But yeah, I mean – I mean obviously. But my car's in the shop.”

“Then isn't it fortunate,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “That Ms Device has her own method of transportation. And I'm certain would be happy to pick you up.”

“Yes,” Anathema seemed to be coming around, back to her normally confident self. “I would be happy to go with you, Newt. And I can pick you up. Just text me your address. Here's my number,” She scrawled it down on a piece of paper and shoved it at him. “My real number, not my office number.”

He stared at it in wonder without speaking. 

“Oh dear, Anathema,'' Crowley shook his head, smirking. “It seems you've broken the poor boy.”

* * *

Crowley should have known what to expect when he went to pick Aziraphale up. Crowley had picked out the outfit, after all. But knowing what it looked like in Aziraphale's hands was different from what it looked like on Aziraphale. 

The suit jacket, undershirt and slacks were all that cream color Aziraphale seemed to fancy so much. But the robin's egg vest brought out the pink in Aziraphale's cheeks and the blue in his eyes. Crowley was glad for his sunglasses – he knew he was staring right now. 

Crowley's own fashion choices for tonight were pretty close to his usual. Charcoal gray slacks, a black turtle neck and a charcoal gray suit jacket. He'd paired it all with a black lipstick and blood red nail polish. He liked the effect. And his sunglasses, of course. Aziraphale crawled into the Bentley's passenger seat. “Have I ever told you,” He said before he'd even closed the door, “That I quite enjoy magic?”

“Do you?” Crowley's voice was strained. Truth was he couldn't stand magic. He could usually figure out the trick and most of them weren't that impressive to him. But he didn't want to be insulting, so he just didn't say anything. 

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale's enthusiasm was boundless. He snapped his fingers and a blood red rose appeared into his hand – probably hidden under his sleeve, Crowley noted but didn't say. “For you, my dear.”

“Oh. Thank you. It's beautiful.”

Aziraphale seemed pleased with the response. He finally closed the passenger door. “Well. Best we're off, then. I suppose you'll want to get this over with quickly.”

“I never said that,” Crowley muttered, but too low for Aziraphale to hear. It was starting to hurt, the way Aziraphale didn't seem to believe for a moment that Crowley might want this - Heck, or even that Crowley might be enjoying this, even if he didn't want it (but oh god, did he want it. He wanted it so badly he was now picturing what his lipstick might look like on Aziraphale if Crowley were to go mad, grab the other man by the lapel and just plant one on him)

Aziraphale toggled the radio and Crowley was surprised to find himself allowing this. He typically didn't let anyone mess with anything in the Bentley, not even Anathema. 

“Oh, Christmas carols!” God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen came through the speakers and Crowley resisted the urge to hiss at it.

“Angel, won't there be enough carols where we're going? It's a party thrown by Gabriel and Gideon, after all. I seem to recall they always play Christmas music. And usually have a sing along. 

“You know, I've never seen you at the party? They insist I go every year, and I was told you and Anathema go every year. How did we always miss each other?”

Crowley kept his eyes on the road but gave a shrug in acknowledgment. “I've always been good at being in the wrong place at the right time. Probably they kept you away from me because I'm a trouble maker.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale cracked a smile. “Or at least that may be what they think, but you truly are a nice person.”

Crowley was glad to find they'd already arrived at the office building. No need to respond to cruel accusations of him being 'nice'. “Every year they want me to valet and every year I tell them to stuff it, no one's touching my Bentley.” he shooed away the valet and followed another car to where it was being parked. “No one touches my car,” he repeated when he got out, shooting the valets a dirty look. “I tip well for _not_ touching it.” He held open the passenger door to let Aziraphale out. 

Aziraphale looped his arm into Crowley's. “A bit chilly tonight.” In response, Crowley pressed himself closer. Not that it helped much – he didn't give off much body heat, he knew. They picked up speed to go inside, stopping at the front to hand their coats off to a coat check station that had hastily been put together in Marketing's office. 

Previous years this event had been held in a ball room, but with print media going the way of the dinosaurs Gabriel had the idea to save money by keeping the party at the office. Any suggestions of just canceling the party had been met with glares and indignation.

Aziraphale waved cheerfully at Newt and Anathema, who were already on the dance floor. Crowley was surprised to see that both were good dancers. They waved back, but then went right back to dancing, giving each other that look that meant the rest of the world had just disappeared for them.

“I suppose I better at least say hi to Uncle Gideon,” Aziraphale sighed. “Though the dessert table does look scrummy...”

“Think how much better they'll taste as a reward for dealing with your uncle,” Crowley suggested. Aziraphale chuckled. 

“Very well. Seems a good idea, anyway. Let's see..” he scanned the floor until he found Gideon who was listening to Gabriel tell one of his golfing stories (Gabriel always mimed his swings during these stories, making them easily identifiable across great distances). They moved to close the space and waited politely for Gabriel to finish.

“And that's when I said,” Gabriel continued, smirking, “'Par? I thought you said far!'” He and Gideon launched into uproarious laughter. Crowley, who had heard this story before, couldn't imagine how dimwitted someone would have to be to find it entertaining. 

“Hello, Uncle. Gabriel. I hope I'm not interrupting -” Aziraphale had waited for the laughter to calm down before speaking.

“Crowley! Aziraphale!” A shot glass was placed into each of their hands by Gabriel “Drink! Be merry!”

Aziraphale made a face. “I believe the rest of that particular set of Bible verses is perhaps not quite so pleasant as --”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said impatiently. “I am the fucking boss, okay, sunshine? I know what I'm talking about. Just drink.”

“Ignore him, he's had too much,” Gideon said, giving his son a side hug. “Just like his old man, eh? You two go have fun. We'll discuss business Monday. But watch out for all the mistletoe, eh? Wouldn't want your boyfriend's lipstick all over you, eh?”

Aziraphale slammed his drink down on a nearby table. “And why wouldn't I? If I'm dating someone I might expect to get his lipstick to get on me. Who cares? Whose business would it be except mine?”

“Don't act like that,” Gideon rolled his eyes. “It's just not very ..manly.”

“And who, exactly, has ever made the mistake of calling me manly, Uncle?” Aziraphale shook his head. “If you'll excuse me, my boyfriend and I have a dance floor calling to us. Crowley?”

“Lovely to see you. Ta!” Crowley saluted, having to half jog as Aziraphale dragged him towards the dance floor. “Are you alright, Aziraphale?”

“I'm fine,” Aziraphale huffed. “My family is just full of...of...bastards,” he whispered the last word, making Crowley wonder once more how often Aziraphale actually bothered with curse words. “I like your lipstick. I think you look very ...you look...you look amazing tonight, Crowley.”

Crowley briefly wondered if Aziraphale could hear the way his heart was pounding. “Thank you.”

The music changed as they prepared to dance. 

_It must have been the mistletoe  
The lazy fire  
The fallen snow_

They stood at a distance, awkwardly swaying. It felt very much like something you might expect of twelve year olds to Crowley. He gulped and maneuvered Aziraphale in closer to him, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's waist. Aziraphale's arms were around Crowley's shoulders. To Crowley's delight, he didn't fight being moved closer.

They swayed in time to the music, Aziraphale singing along in a sotto voice. “This is one of my favorites,” he admitted. 

_Old Saint Nicholas_  
Had his fingers crossed  
That we would fall in love 

“He wasn't kidding about the mistletoe,” Crowley said in wonder, looking up. They had managed to dance underneath it without noticing until now. 

“You don't have to if you don't want to.”

“...I ...do want to, though," Crowley admitted. He pulled off his glasses with one hand and shoved them in his pocket so that Aziraphale could see his eyes. And hopefully could tell how serious he was right now. “But it's up to you. We don't have -”

He couldn't finish his thought before Aziraphale's mouth was pressed to his. Aziraphale put a hand on the side of Crowley's face, brushing Crowley's cheek with his thumb. Crowley returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm and pressure, wondering what had brought this on. After a few moments, Aziraphale broke the kiss. “'I had thought you were a dream. I'm still worried sometimes – I may mistake you for what I dreamed. But you're even better. You're real. And I want to get to know you. The real you. I want to keep getting to know you. And I hope you want to get to know me, too.' - What Alex said to Carter in the final piece. It...It felt like something I might say to you.”

They went back to sway dancing as Crowley, for once, found himself at a loss for words. He started to speak multiple times, but each time seemed to lose his train of thought. And he had been right. Aziraphale looked very fetching with Crowley's lipstick on. Which finally brought Crowley back to reality. 

“That wasn't...that wasn't just to tell your uncle to stuff it, was it? Because if it was I'm not sure I'd blame you, but-”

“Do you really think that little of me?” Aziraphale looked offended. “I don't kiss anyone I don't want to actually kiss, I assure you. Besides, I already know how you feel about me.”

“And what makes you so sure about that, huh? Not sure I like this new confident Aziraphale,” Crowley teased. “I certainly never said anything-”

“No, but you wrote it.”

Crowley blanched. He vaguely remembered typing some notes in one of his pieces about how he felt about Aziraphale, but he was certain he'd deleted it. Except...well, given the confident smirk on Aziraphale's face, Crowley obviously hadn't. “This isn't just because I helped you? You don't owe me anything.”

“I owe you everything,” Aziraphale insisted, “But I wouldn't offer myself up for that, I assure you. This is something I want. I'm finally learning it's okay to speak up and say what I want. That's something you taught me, so you'd better be prepared to take responsibility for that.”

Crowley let out a loud barking laugh. “All right, Angel, all right. But first, can I kiss you again?” Aziraphale nodded eagerly but let Crowley be the one to lean in this time. Their lips stayed pressed together through the end of the song. When they separated, they found Anathema and Newt staring at them. Anathema clapped. 

“Oh shut it, I don't have anything to throw at you right now,” Crowley sniffed at her. “Besides, it took you two ages. It took us what...a few weeks? Apparently we could teach you two a thing or two.”

“We're engaged,” Anathema countered. 

“You're ...wait...what?!” Crowley sputtered. 

“I mean, I don't have a ring yet,” Newt admitted. “But when you know you know, right?”

“Congratulations,” Aziraphale said sincerely, grabbing Newt's hand and pumping. 

“You're both crazy, but I know you'll be happy together. But still crazy.” Crowley shook his head but gave Anathema a hug. “You better not be taking him off to America. We need you crazy kids in the office so it's not just a bunch of old farts and me.”

“You're an old fart yourself,” Anathema elbowed him in the ribs. “But I want more details on you two!”

They ran off in the direction of the punch bowl together, presumably to compare notes. “That does seem awfully fast,” Aziraphale admitted to Newt when the other two were out of ear shot. “I'm not saying it's a bad idea or anything but-”

“I just knew. I don't know how to explain it. I knew the first time I talked to her. I was just too shy to do anything about it.”

“Seems bravery's going around today,” Aziraphale gave Newt a congratulatory pat on the back. 

“But you and Crowley?”

“Yes, I know, we're very different-”

“No. I mean...yes, but. You two make a lot of sense together. I've never see him this happy before,” Then Newt added, rather slyly, Aziraphale thought, “Or you, for that matter.”

“Thank you, Newt.”

Aziraphale had never been a good liar. To himself or to anyone else. It was odd to think that a challenge from his uncle was what had pushed him to finally realize that he _wanted_ to kiss Crowley, but he supposed stranger things had happened. He was also delighted to find he wanted to do it again, and more to the point that Crowley seemed quite happy to oblige. 

“Wonders never cease,” Aziraphale said allowed, watching Crowley and Anathema laughing at each other. Aziraphale felt his heart flutter. He'd come to terms quickly with his attraction to Crowley, but it was only now, after having kissed the man twice he was starting to come to grips with the fact that he might truly be in love with him.


	11. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts since last month and I finally got around to finishing it. Hope you all enjoyed. It was a lot of fun to work on this one!

Aziraphale and Crowley sat in companionable silence, both working on their own projects. It was Sunday night and they were at Crowley's flat. They'd both been at it for hours now, Aziraphale putting together proofs of how well sales went and Crowley clipping every good review he could find in print (occasionally getting up to print out physical copies of the electronic reviews he found – of course, there were more of those but he wanted to sit near Aziraphale and being on the computer necessitated sitting at the computer desk in the other room).

Aziraphale stretched, popping his back in the process. He groaned. “This is taking ages, isn't it, dear? I really should get back to my place.”

“Why?”

“Well the buses may have already stopped running by my place at this point, though I suppose you could give me a lift home? If it isn't too much trouble?” Aziraphale gave Crowley that pleading look that would have made Crowley walk through fire if that's what Aziraphale had asked.

“I mean, of course, but why not stay the night?” He shook his head when he saw the way Aziraphale stiffened up. “Not like that. I've got a guest room.”

“Do you?”

“The flat's bigger than it looks, really,” Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to follow him. All these days Aziraphale had been over he'd never been in any of the rooms besides the living room, kitchen and the bathroom. “Actually I have two guests rooms,” Crowley opened one door letting Aziraphale go in first.

“Oh my...” It was a large room. There was already a bed made up in the center and Aziraphale noticed the tartan quilt spread across it before he noticed anything else. “You had this planned, didn't you? You fiend,” he pretended to look scandalized, but the smile cracked through almost immediately.

“Look, that place of yours isn't great. I'm not saying move in with me permanently – you said you wanted us to take things slow. If I didn't have the spare room I wouldn't even be suggesting this. I'm just saying you could stay here until you find a place that suits you more. Save up money for it in the meantime. I could even charge you rent...”

“Oh? How much is rent?” Aziraphale crossed the room back to Crowley's side and threw his arms around him.

“I dunno. Never been a landlord before. I suppose I'll be the shady sort,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Five pounds and several kisses a day.”

“You know, if someone had told me when we first met that you were this much of a romantic I don't think I would have believed them.”

Crowley shrugged. “You bring out the worst in me.”

“Worst?”

“Best, worst? Who's to say, really? I'm probably better behaved these days. No wild demon time for me anymore, I don't think. I just want you to be somewhere you'll be safe and happy.”

“Oh, but getting out of a lease is so difficult-”

Crowley laughed. “C'mon, I still have that picture of Shadwell coming out of Tracy's. Trust me, he wants you gone just as much as you want to be out of there.”

“If you're sure. And you understand,” Aziraphale nuzzled into Crowley's neck. “That I do think this would be too fast. I want to be with you, but I need my own place – I will only be staying here until I find a new place. Though of course you'll be welcome to come over whenever you'd like....”

“Of course, Angel,” Crowley kissed him, then pulled away. “How much more proof do we need to get that uncle of yours to pay you a fair rate?”

“I mean, I have the evidence but it may also take a miracle to get him to see reason-”

“How 'bout a demonic miracle? I could, I dunno, threaten to leave-”

“Don't you dare!” Aziraphale insisted. “You have to stay or that magazine will go under. Anathema can't carry it alone, no matter how many people buy _Eden_ just to be offended by what she writes.”

“You've never seen the R.P. Tyler letters to her. Several a week, every week, insisting that she stop and make peace with God before it's too late. I worry he may run out of things to do if she ever stops writing.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I should probably go home tonight at least-”

“To get your things, yes, I agree.”

“I meant to sleep.”

“Aziraphale, I have a spare toothbrush for you here and we can go get you some clean underwear for tomorrow.”

“I insist on getting my things at home. But...I will spend the night here. In the guest room.”

“In _your_ room,” Crowley corrected.

“Very well,” Aziraphale beamed at him, wiggling in his happiness. “ _My_ room. And if we're doing this we can stay up later planning a strategy.”

Crowley groaned. “You are taking all the fun out of sleepovers, d'you know that?”

Crowley drove them both to the office Monday morning and Aziraphale made a beeline for his uncle's office, knowing for once that the man would be there. He'd promised to be there, and while Gideon was many things he was known to keep his promises.

When Aziraphale went into the office, Gideon, Michael and Gabriel were already there apparently waiting for him. He moved his papers out from under his arm and shuffled them nervously. He, foolishly, hadn't been expecting all three of them. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that the proof was on his side.

“Congratulations,” Michael said, gesturing for Aziraphale to take the open seat in front of Gideon's desk. She was half lounging on Gideon's desk. Gideon sat behind the desk and Gabriel was in the other seat beside the one Aziraphale now took.

“Yes, well, thank you. ...for what?”

“It is the most successful issue of _Eden_ ever sold. Of course, your boyfriend probably should get most of the credit,” Gabriel said, leafing through a copy of the Christmas edition. “Couldn't have done it without him.”

Aziraphale and Crowley had prepared for this, both knowing this exact comment was coming. “Yes, he did a lovely job, didn't he? Though I disparage of his knowledge of commas and a few other grammatical mistakes and,” Aziraphale chuckled, “He also made a few mistakes on the time line that I had to smooth over.”

With that, Aziraphale took control of the room. It wasn't that his comment was biting – it was that Gideon and Gabriel had expected him to back down. Since he wasn't doing that, they weren't sure where to go with the negotiations. He had successfully thrown them off track, exactly as Crowley suggested he do.

“So, we sold six times as many copies. You are currently paying me less than half the going rate for someone in my field and with my current level of experience.”

“The thing about that is-” Gabriel started. Gideon cut him off.

“Nice try, Gabriel, but it seems Aziraphale's come prepared. Let me see the papers you came with,” Gideon held out his hands for them. Aziraphale handed them over and gave Gideon some time to look over them before he tried to speak again.

“I have several proofs on market rate, a reminder of how much time I've spent in this field, and I have signatures from multiple writers here – excluding Crowley, since you may feel he would only write it due to our relationship – the other writers have signed attesting to all the work I've done. Which has been beyond the scope of what I would normally be doing. The final page is how much I believe I should be making – slightly less than what would be fair, I believe, since print media is in such a precarious position.”

Gideon sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Gabriel looked frustrated, but couldn't seem to come up with an argument. Michael grabbed desperately for the paperwork, looking through it herself to see if she could find a flaw.

“Very well,” Gideon acceded. “Your raise shall be effective retroactively, seeing as we have you to thank for the jump in subscriptions. However,” And now his voice was sharp, “Two things – your relationship with Crowley cannot be a distraction. But I also expect you to get him to start submitting writing like this on a regular basis. Do that – I promise you it's in everyone's interest.”

Gabriel rose out of his seat and gestured for Aziraphale to follow him. He said nothing even as he practically pushed Aziraphale out the door. Finally, he added a “Get to work” before shutting the door.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, stunned. It had worked.

It had worked!

Aziraphale resisted the urge to skip back to his desk, though he suspected his happiness was written all over his face. In fact, once he reached his desk Crowley didn't bother to ask him how it had went. He took one look at Aziraphale and gave him a thumbs up.

“Told you it would go well. Nice one.”

“You really want to get married that soon?” Anathema and Newt had come to Crowley- well Crowley and Aziraphale's flat to discuss some things with them. Aziraphale was staring at the RSVP card for the pair's wedding. It was to be in six months. “Is that even enough time to get everything together?”

“Don't worry,” Newt insisted, giving Aziraphale a pat on the back. “Anathema's mum is taking care of everything – she's working with my mum on it, actually. They got along like a house on fire.”

“Well that's good, then,” Aziraphale agreed, taking a sip of his tea. He'd made sure they all had tea and a slice of cake. It felt like a low key double date at the moment, though he was still amazed at how fast Newt and Anathema were moving in their relationship. According to Anathema, they'd both moved quickly from crush to being in love and the real hesitation had been each thinking the other might not reciprocate to the same degree. Once everything was out in the open they'd figured they may as well get to the marriage bit. It wasn't something Aziraphale could ever do, but it seemed likely to work out for them.

“I'll be the maid of honor at your wedding,” Anathema teased as she fumbled through her bag for something. She let out a triumphant 'a ha!' when she found it. A thick leather book which she handed over to Crowley.

“Another one?” He didn't even look at the book, just shoved it on to his book shelf. Aziraphale squinted so he could see the title – it was yet another copy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

“So you're the one who bought him all those copies?”

Anathema nodded. “He's hard as hell to buy gifts for. And that's the only book he ever admitted to me he liked. So I bought him a copy, but it turned out he already had two copies-”

“One my mum bought me and then I bought another when I couldn't find that one,” Crowley explained. “Then the original turned up, I'd left it in my car and forgotten about it.”

“So I buy him a copy every time I find a new one. It's very fitting, don't you think?”

Newt chuckled. “A gruff guy everyone thinks is rude until he falls in love? Whatever makes you think our Crowley could relate to that, Anathema?”

She smiled at the teasing. “Yes, I wonder, Newt, just why Crowley actually likes that book?”

“Both of you are going to go with me to Hell one day,” Crowley said, taking a sip of his tea, “And I'm going to pretend not to know either of you when we all get there.”

Aziraphale allowed himself a small laugh, but shrugged innocently when Crowley glared at him. “They have a point, my dear. Though I don't mind playing the Elizabeth to your Darcy, if you'd like. You'd probably look quite handsome in regency dress.”

Crowley put his tea down just so he could throw up his hands. “Great. Now I'm going to have to role play. See what you've started?” He demanded of Anathema.

“What are your plans, anyway?” Anathema suddenly looked very serious. “I don't expect you two to jump on the engagement wagon this quickly, but ...”

“Anathema,” Newt grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Perhaps we shouldn't be asking? It's probably not any of our business.”

“Tosh, like she'd ever let me get away with not answering,” Crowley snorted. “We're going to see where it goes. Right, angel?”

“Right,” Aziraphale beamed at him. “This is a temporary arrangement, but I'm uh...excited for it. And of course when I move out it will be somewhere near by. I want to stay close to him. Keep him out of trouble, of course.”

Anathema threw her head back and laughed. “Please. He's been behaving himself since the moment he realized he was in love with you.”

Crowley wasn't in the office so didn't have a pen to throw at Anathema. He settled for crumpling up an unused tissue and throwing it at her. It hit Newt instead. Crowley didn't apologize.

“My point is,” Anathema said, picking the napkin off of Newt's lap, “I'm happy for both of you. You deserve to be happy. And if I start crossing boundaries with poking in too much-”

“We'll call it even for all the times I did it to you and Newt,” Crowley said with a shrug. “The pace of this is up to Aziraphale. I'm up for anything,” He grabbed Aziraphale's hand. “I'm not proposing or anything yet, but I wouldn't mind if that's where it ended up.”

Aziraphale turned bright pink and stared at the floor. “I wouldn't mind either,” he admitted softly, still not looking up. “But... I hope you don't mind that it's a bit too soon to be discussing that for my tastes.”

“Anything you want,” Crowley said insistently. “We can wait. You're in the driver's seat.”

“Quite. Thank you,” Aziraphale gave Crowley a peck on the cheek. “I appreciate it. And if we get there-” he ignored Anathema muttering “ _when_ you get there” “When we get there.. if we get there, I'll let you know.”

“Not the destination, it's the journey,” Crowley nodded agreeably. “I like that. We'll sort our stuff out in our own time,” he explained to Newt and Anathema. “You two can go as fast as you're comfortable but in this one area... I think we'll just take our time.”


End file.
